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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25012435">Whiskey Neat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/funeralsuits/pseuds/funeralsuits'>funeralsuits</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mad Men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Banter, F/M, Love/Hate, Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:53:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,397</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25012435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/funeralsuits/pseuds/funeralsuits</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the hopes of finding inspiration for her second book, novelist Vivian Boudreaux heads to none other than Madison Avenue for her research. Pitching it as a "modern Othello," she interviews the employees of Sterling Cooper, getting far closer to some than she ever intended to.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ken Cosgrove/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Madison Avenue. Vivian had only read about it in the papers, as her business rarely brought her to the Upper East Side in all of its chrome glory. But here she was, about to venture into the unknown. A somehow already infamous unknown, filled with blood, sweat, and bravado. Whether that bravado was false or not had yet to be determined by the young author. As she made her way into one of the notorious buildings that kissed the clouds, she felt smaller than ever. Her publisher didn’t think this was such a good idea. Even after her first successful novel, he still had his reservations about sending her into the cut-throat world of advertising. But, he also knew that she could hold her own amongst anyone. He succumbed to the agreement of giving her an advanced stipend as long as she promised the research would be worth it and produced some substantial pages within a month. Her hook, as she has pitched it to him, was a sheer lack of bias and ego (though the ego part was debatable). Man writing about man is sure to be fueled with jealously and pissing for distance. But with Vivian, the dick-swinging would be easily kept to a minimum. That, and she had an in – an in who didn’t exactly know she was coming.</p><p>       “Hi, I’m here to see Mr. Sterling,” Vivian informed the sweet-looking, stout receptionist that sat at a desk outside of his office.</p><p>       “Your name, dear?” she asked, perusing Sterling’s schedule.</p><p>       “Also Sterling,” Vivian admitted with a sheepish smile. “Vivian – I’m his niece.”</p><p>       “His niece?” the receptionist questioned. She never knew Sterling had a niece. A daughter, yes, but not a niece.</p><p>       “Yes, I didn’t call, I hope that’s okay. I was actually looking to surprise him. Maybe take him out to lunch somewhere. It’s been so long since I’ve been in the city. Is he on a call? Or could I just go on in? I would love it to be a surprise.”</p><p>       The receptionist, torn, finally obliged and nodded. “Go right ahead, dear.”</p><p>       Vivian smiled politely. “Thank you. Your broach is lovely, by the way. Brings out your eyes.” The receptionist beamed, fingers brushing the jeweled broach that sat in the middle of her collar. And, with that, Vivian walked in. Roger Sterling, the ever-important titan of industry that he was, was hunched over his desk with a glass of whiskey in hand, eyes not reading anything in particular. He glanced up upon hearing her enter, brows furrowed, as if trying to place her from somewhere.</p><p>       “Can I help you?” he asked just as Vivian took a seat across from him.</p><p>       “Mr. Sterling. Hi, I’m Vivian Boudreaux. I’m a novelist.” She held out her hand over his desk and he shook it, still quizzical in expression.</p><p>       “A novelist? Who the hell let a writer into my office?” Vivian crossed her legs, her pencil skirt drifting dangerously up her thighs. Roger took notice of this, as Vivian knew he would.</p><p>       “I told your receptionist I was your niece,” she admitted.</p><p>       “I don’t have a niece.”</p><p>       Vivian smiled. “But Uncle Rog, surely you remember your own niece?”</p><p>       Roger paused, staring her down, trying to figure her out. “Who are you?”</p><p>       “Vivian Boudreaux. I’m Margie’s friend – we were roommates at Rye. We’ve met. Several times, actually.”</p><p>       “Have we?”</p><p>       Vivian shrugged. “When I was ten pounds of baby fat heavier and had a homemade haircut. Nice to see I made an impression.”</p><p>       Roger let out a laugh. “Well you’ve sure as hell made up for it now. I don’t think I’ll forget my daughter’s old roommate flouting into my office.”</p><p>       “I sure hope not,” Vivian agreed. “And, for the record, it is far too easy to flout in this building.” Roger laughed again. She was charming him and she damn well knew it. He made his way to the drink tray that he kept conveniently stocked in the corner of his office.</p><p>       “You drink?”</p><p>       “Whiskey. On the rocks. Please.” He nodded and dropped a pair of ice cubes into a glass, filling it with a double shot of whiskey.</p><p>       “So – may I ask what brings you here? Or is there a family reunion you’re supposed to take me to that I wasn’t aware of?” He hands her the drink, filling up his own glass with gin and settling back in his chair across from her.</p><p>       Vivian smiled. “Well, Marge and I still keep in touch regularly and she said you might be able to help me with something.” She took a small sip of her drink.</p><p>       “Did she?”</p><p>       “She did. See, I’m writing a novel. My second one, actually.”</p><p>       “Second?” Roger interrupted. “What’s the first? Have I heard of it?”</p><p>       “I’d hope so. It’s a New York Times bestseller – Cadillac Neat.”</p><p>       Roger took a moment before responding. “You’re a bit cocky, aren’t you Miss Boudreaux?”</p><p>       Vivian shrugged. “I’m simply trying to make an impression this time.”</p><p>       “Well, it’s working. Cadillac Neat. I’ve heard of it, haven’t read it. Good title.”</p><p>       “Thank you.”</p><p>       “So, you’re writing another.”</p><p>       “I am. It’s called Mad Men – a working title – about a booming advertising agency on Madison Avenue. A tragically successful protagonist and the little snakes whispering in his ear, praising him until his inevitable dethronement. A modern Othello, if you will.”</p><p>       “A modern Othello, huh? Is that supposed to intrigue me?” He was playing the game now. His confusion had subsided and he was turning on the charm that he was so well known for. Vivian knew this was a good sign so she was able to relax a bit. She leant back in her seat and held her drink to her lips, this time taking a swig.</p><p>       “Only if it’s working.”</p><p>       “I haven’t decided yet. So, Margie said I could help? In what way?”</p><p>       Vivian folded her hands in her lap. “I’d like to interview your staff. Secretaries, copywriters, junior executives. Executives, if I may be so bold.”</p><p>       “It hasn’t stopped you yet.”</p><p>       “I want to find my Othello and all the Iago’s that come with him. And if you’ve got a Desdemona for me, I’d like to pick her brain too.” She sat up again, waiting anxiously for his answer. Roger, sensing this, took his time. He swirled the clear liquid in his drink in circles a bit, pretending to think it over.</p><p>       “And what do I get out of this? I mean, what does Sterling Cooper have to gain from something that could lead to libel and defamation for all I know?” he asked, candidly. Vivian sighed. If Roger didn’t know any better, he’d almost say she was stumped. But she didn’t leave the silence hanging for long. She leaned in towards him.</p><p>       “You get the satisfaction of knowing I came here first. I could’ve gone to McCann Erickson. I could’ve gone to BBDO, JWT, CGC, or any of the other acronyms. But I didn’t. And you wanna why I didn’t?”</p><p>       “Because you weren’t related to any of them?” Roger joked.</p><p>       Vivian ignored him. “Because I knew they ain’t got shit on you. They’re big, I’ll give them that. But they don’t have an ounce of the star quality your agency does. And I only work with the best.”</p><p>       “So – flattery, that’s your angle?” Roger concluded.</p><p>       “It’s not flattery if it’s the truth. I’m a writer. I did my research.” He didn’t seem convinced so Vivian pressed on. “Look, I’m not going to make you guys look bad – I won’t use any real names, I’ll change details so no one can pin you down. We can even put that in writing if you want. I’m not trying to expose your agency or derail your work. All I want to do is talk to some folks – see how the agency works and get some inspiration. When I set out to write something I want to get it right. Will you help me out? Please?” Roger remained silent still. “If it sweetens the pot at all, Margie doesn’t think you’ll go for it. You could prove her wrong. Be a real cool daddy-o.”</p><p>       Roger chuckled. “You know what? Fine.”</p><p>       Vivian grinned, trying to hide her enthusiasm and remain calm and collected. “Really?”</p><p>       Roger stood and Vivian followed. “Really. But if I hear that anything shifty is going on or that these guys are slacking in anyway –”</p><p>       Vivian spoke before he finished. “Of course not. I’ll be a model citizen.”</p><p>       “It’s not you I’m worried about, sweetheart.” Roger walked to his door and opened it. Vivian set her still full glass down on his desk and made her way out of Roger’s office.</p><p>       “Thank you for this, Mr. Sterling. Really, you don’t know how much I appreciate it.”</p><p>       “It’s Roger, please,” he insisted. “And it’s my pleasure. Any friend of Margie’s is welcome here. I was just putting the heat on you, seeing how you’d do. Because you have to have a thick skin to handle these guys. Gotta hold your own.” Vivian laughed, following Roger past his receptionist’s desk, to the left, and down a narrow hall.</p><p>       “I think I can manage,” she assured him. He peeked into a couple of doorways until he found exactly where all of his employees had been hiding – an office labeled Pete Campbell.</p><p>       “I hope so. Because here are the sharks now. Boys,” Roger said, gaining everyone’s attention. “This is Vivian Boudreaux. She’s a writer. Play nice.” And with that, he left. Vivian’s eyes widened slightly, thrown off by his abrupt departure. He didn’t explain what she was doing there or why or anything, he just left. But as quickly as she lost her balance, she regained her composure, putting on a mask of professionalism. She looked around at the men who lounged about the office, two on the couch, one in a chair, and one behind the desk. So much testosterone in such a tiny room. It was deafening.</p><p>       “Hello boys.” As if on cue, they all stood up.</p><p>       “Hell-o to you too,” one of them, a tall man who bore a striking resemblance to the esteemed director Orson Welles, said. “Vivian, was it? Vivien Leigh?” He stood and held out his hand which she politely shook.</p><p>       “Boudreaux.” she replied unamused. She recognized that she did slightly resemble the actress, but she got a million comparisons a day. ‘Vivien Leigh,’ meant nothing to her.</p><p>       “Paul Kinsey, copywriter,” he informed her, still holding her hand, caressing his thumb over her knuckles. Vivian quickly pulled it out of his grip before he had a chance to sink his claws in for good. She turned her attention to the men on the couch who’d stood up. One was a brunette with a square face and glasses and the other was a blonde.</p><p>       The one with glasses, who was closest to her, shook her hand. “Harry Crane, head of TV and media.”</p><p>       Vivian nodded and smiled in reply. She turned her attention to the blonde man, really noticing him this time. He was tall, and just a bit dashing. His hair was slicked down, just as the rest of them combed it, and he wore a mischievous grin on his face like it was his signature style. He held his hand out to her as well.</p><p>       “Ken Cosgrove, head of accounts.” The way he smiled at her, Vivian didn’t know whether to roll her eyes or blush.</p><p>       “Boudreaux, what is that?” Paul asked, stepping closer to her again as the two sat back down on the couch.</p><p>       “French,” she replied, taking a step back.</p><p>       “Let the girl breathe, Kinsey,” the man behind the desk commented. He stood and walked around, greeting her with a handshake just as the rest of them. “Pete Campbell, accounts. So – Sterling said you’re a writer. Well, I should tell you upfront our copywriting department is full. But if you’re looking for a receptionist position I can always direct you to our office manager, Joan Harris.”</p><p>       It took everything within Vivian to keep her from scoffing at him. “Well, thank you, but that’s not exactly why I’m here.”</p><p>       “Well you can’t possibly be looking for a job on the switchboard,” Ken commented. “Not with a face like that. But, if you want, casting is down the hall.” Vivian sighed. His initial allure was quickly wearing off.</p><p>       “I don’t need a job,” she assured him.</p><p>       “No, of course not. Show off those legs a little more and you’ll have men falling to the ground all over Manhattan,” Paul chimed in, giving her a smile that sent an ugly shiver down her spine. She knew that diving into research of the advertising business, specifically on Madison Avenue, was going to come hand in hand with the occasional nausea. She just didn’t know she’d be reaching for the waste basket this soon.</p><p>       “I don’t think I need help in that department either, thank you. Especially not from the likes of you.” Paul’s skeevy smile dropped as the other three men around him laughed.</p><p>       “She’s a feisty one, isn’t she?” Pete chuckled.</p><p>       “Look. I’m a novelist. I’m working on a new book set in an ad agency similar to yours and I’m looking for some inspiration. For some reason, though I can’t imagine what, Roger thought that you all would represent the agency well. Should I tell him to find someone else?” The four men exchanged looks, almost worried. Ken and Harry stood up again, finally giving her their respect, or, at least, their attention.</p><p>       “Any friend of Rogers is a friend of ours,” Harry told her. He gestured to the seat Paul was previously occupying and she ventured towards it, sitting down and crossing her legs respectfully. She observed the room, now able to see all of them at once – Harry and Ken on the couch next to her, and Paul and Pete leaning up against Pete’s desk on her other side. She took a quiet breath, recovering from the barrage of misogyny that was just thrown at her.</p><p>       “What do you want to know?” Pete asked.</p><p>       “Actually, I was hoping to possibly sit down with each of you one-on-one.”</p><p>       “One-on-one, eh?” Paul interrupted.</p><p>       Vivian grimaced. “Just whenever each of you have the time. I can always come back later if you’re busy.”</p><p>       “Yeah, we’re really hard at work in here,” Ken added sarcastically giving her a lopsided grin.</p><p>       “You know, our boy, Ken, here is a writer,” Harry informed her, putting his hand on Ken’s shoulders. “I bet he could really help you out.”</p><p>       “Is that so?” Vivian asked, eyeing him suspiciously. She was quickly getting tired of the group, but considered leaning into their idiocy as it could be slightly entertaining.</p><p>       Ken shrugged, half embarrassed and half proud. “I had a short story published in the Atlantic Monthly, nothing monumental.” His eyes glanced to her crossed legs, seeing her dress slide up ever so slightly. As he spoke, Vivian reached into her bag for her gold-painted case of cigarettes. She plucked one out carefully and set it between her crimson lips. Before she could even reach for her lighter, she heard the flick of one from next to her. She eyed Ken down, leaning towards him and allowing him to light the end.</p><p>       “Oh, he’s being modest,” Harry insisted. "He also writes novels."</p><p>       “He’s our own little Hemingway,” Paul added. Vivian took a drag of her cigarette and let it out. She barely noticed every man in the room’s eyes on her lips. It was second nature.</p><p>       She directed her attention towards Ken again. “So, you’re one of those types then?”</p><p>       “Pardon?” Ken asked.</p><p>       “A drunk that dribbles onto the page. Torn between wanting to be pitied and revered.”</p><p>       Ken couldn’t help it – he let out a laugh. “I wouldn’t say so, no.”</p><p>       “Well, then he’s not Hemingway, boys,” Vivian said, addressing the group with a small smile, just enough to signal she was joking.</p><p>       “And what about you then?” Ken asked. “What do you write?”</p><p>       “All kinds of things, I suppose. I, um, I wrote a book called Cadillac Neat. It’s kind of a –”</p><p>       “Wait a minute, I’ve read that,” Paul interrupted. “About the, uh, the businessman journeying through middle America. Yeah, I’ve read it. It’s good. Like if Kerouac wrote Death of a Salesman. Good stuff.”</p><p>       Vivian smiled, looking down at her hands. “Thank you.” She always got a bit uncomfortable when people complimented her work. Unlike how she appeared earlier with Roger Sterling – all cool and confident when mentioning her bestseller – talking about her book, or any of her writing for that matter, always made her feel silly and even self-centered. She’d much rather talk about literature and writing in a general sense, discussing the greats and the not-so-greats over drinks and cigarettes.</p><p>       “Kerouac, huh? That beatnik?” Pete remarked with a scoff.</p><p>       “Watch what you say about Kerouac, Pete,” Paul warned him. “The man’s a genius.”</p><p>       “The man’s a hopeless stoner pretending to be a philosopher,” Pete argued back. Vivian smiled, amused, watching the men bicker like children. She turned to Harry and Ken on the couch.</p><p>       “Are they always like this?”</p><p>       “Miss Boudreaux, I wish I could tell you that you’re in a house of distinguished professionals. But unfortunately,” Ken gestured to Pete and Paul, “This is the best Sterling Cooper has to offer.”</p><p>       “Lovely,” Vivian replied. “Well then, I’ll settle for second best. How about you? Would you like to start?” Ken grinned, as if second best was a compliment. His eyes trailed down her body – her black dress that clung tightly to her skin, yet showed little to none of it – and back up to her face that held a constant expression somewhere between serious and sarcastic. Vivian watched him as he did this, realizing, despite her hopes, that he was just like the rest of them. Another one of the Mad Men of advertising.</p><p>       “I’d love to, really, but, I’m sorry, I’m having lunch with a client. Somebody has to do some work around here, right?” The truth is, Ken was sorry – in fact, he was extremely disappointed. If he could skip his lunch meeting, say client be damned, he would. But, alas, if he wanted to keep the account, and his job, he couldn’t.</p><p>       “Lunch is work?” Vivian questioned him.</p><p>       “In advertising it is.”</p><p>       “Alright, suit yourself. But don’t think you’re safe. I’ll be making my rounds.” There was a small glint in Vivian’s eyes, something almost playful behind her stoic exterior. And it made Ken beam, as he could see this was something that the others around him weren’t getting.</p><p>       “I’ll be looking forward to it.” He stuck out his hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Boudreaux. I hope we haven’t tarnished Sterling Cooper’s reputation too badly.”</p><p>       Vivian smiled, shaking his hand. “Impossible.” Ken nodded and left. With Pete and Paul still arguing in the background, Vivian turned her attention to Harry. “Well, what about you then? Busy?” she asked.</p><p>       “Married,” he stated nervously.</p><p>       Vivian furrowed her brow. “Not what I asked.”</p><p>       But before they could make their exit, a tall, devilishly handsome man strode into the room like he owned the place. From Vivian’s previous knowledge about the agency, she didn’t think he did but she couldn’t exactly be sure. Either way, the three other men in the office looked like deer in headlights.</p><p>       “What are you all lounging around for? Doesn’t anyone do any actual work at this agency?” he demanded upon entering, making Vivian chuckle softly. But it was enough for the man to hear, his eyes locking with hers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had company, Pete.”</p><p>       “Don, this is Vivian Boudreaux,” Pete introduced. Vivian stubbed out her cigarette on a nearby ashtray and stood as the men who didn’t officially occupy the office scrambled to get back to work.</p><p>       “Don Draper,” the man told her with his arm outstretched. “Creative.”</p><p>       “Vivian Boudreaux.” Vivian shook his hand firmly as he stared her down. “Novelist.”</p><p>       “A writer?” he repeated, looking to Pete as if for clarification.</p><p>       “Sterling’s setting a writer loose in our midst. She wants to know how an ad agency works.”</p><p>       “Recon, if you will,” Vivian added. “I’d love to get your insight, actually. I mean, I think you kind of owe me considering you scared off my troops. That is, if you’re not busy?”</p><p>       Don’s gaze was heavy on her. “This was Roger’s idea?”</p><p>       “Nothing’s ever Roger’s idea, but it has his stamp of approval. Scout’s honor.” Vivian held up two fingers.</p><p>       “I think I have a couple minutes to spare.” And with that he exited the office. Vivian picked up her bag, following him back down the hall and into an office across from Roger’s. Vivian nodded to his secretary – an absolutely stunning brunette with bright red lipstick. The secretary gave her a look of something almost like pity. Don Draper’s office was roomy, much roomier than Pete Campbell’s, but just a tad smaller than Roger Sterling’s – something that, perhaps, Don didn’t notice, but Roger sure as hell did. Don gestured to a long couch near him, also bigger than the one in Pete Campbell’s office, and Vivian sat down. He headed to his drink table and poured himself a glass of whiskey.</p><p>       “You drink?” he asked gruffly.</p><p>       “I do,” Vivian replied, crossing her legs and pulling out a notepad and pen from her bag. “Whiskey. On the rocks, please.” Don nodded and tossed to cubes in a glass, filling it with whiskey as well. He handed it to her and sat down in a chair next to her. </p><p>       “You came prepared,” Don noted.</p><p>       Vivian took a sip of her drink. “Did you expect less?”</p><p>       Don cocked his head, as if surprised by this answer. “No,” he answered simply.</p><p>       “Good. So – how long have you been with Sterling Cooper?”</p><p>       “Seven years.” Vivian scribbled down his answers in shorthand.</p><p>       “That’s a long time. Did you start as Creative Director or work your way up?”</p><p>       Don paused before answering. “I was a copywriter.”</p><p>       Vivian nodded. “Impressive growth. You worried about any of your copywriters taking the same path?” Don stared at her. He pulled a cigarette from the compartment on the coffee table and placed it between his lips, lighting it and taking a drag. He blew it out.</p><p>       “Not in the slightest.”</p><p>       “Really? Does that say more about the quality of their work or yours?”</p><p>       Don narrowed his eyes at her, curiously. “May I ask why you’re allowed to do this?” he asked her, shaken a bit by her bluntness.</p><p>       “Roger’s a friend.”</p><p>       “A friend?” The question she knew they’d all been wondering.</p><p>       “Yes. Just a friend. Believe me. I went to school with his daughter.”</p><p>       “I see.”</p><p>       “Nothing like some good old-fashioned nepotism, right?” Don let out what could be considered as a half-hearted laugh but had no response so Vivian continued. “How’d you get started in advertising, Mr. Draper?”</p><p>       “Don. Please.” Vivian nodded. “I started off selling cars, used. Then furs at Heller’s. Then one day Roger Sterling walked into my store for a mink coat. I sent my portfolio in the box with it.”</p><p>       Vivian smiled. “That’s a good story. The fur was for Mona, I assume, not him?”</p><p>       “Well. That’s between the salesman and his client.” Don took a sip of his drink as Vivian laughed.</p><p>       “Salesman confidentiality, I appreciate that. So, I take it all of this is strictly off the record?”</p><p>       “Strictly.”</p><p>       Vivian sighed and put her pen down. “Look. I know you’re joking, but I just want to let you know, I’m not trying to take your words or paint your picture or anything. I’m just fixing to find some inspiration. Get a closer look at what you do here.”</p><p>       Don nodded. “Thanks for the reassurance,” he said somewhat sarcastically.</p><p>       “What does a typical day at Sterling Cooper look like for you?”</p><p>       “There is no typical day at Sterling Cooper,” he answered frankly.</p><p>       Vivian shrugged. “Run me through yesterday.”</p><p>       Don sighed, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Meetings with clients and meetings with employees.”</p><p>       “Can you tell me what those meetings entailed?” He gave her a look – an ‘are you kidding me?’ look. “Can you tell me anything?” She was beginning to get tired of the lack of information she was receiving.</p><p>       “Miss Boudreaux, you’re not my client and you’re not my employee.”</p><p>       Vivian nodded. “That’s fair…what would you say is the biggest challenge of your job?”</p><p>       “Convincing the customer that he isn’t always right.” Don downed the last swig of his whiskey and set it down on the coffee table.</p><p>       “That’s bold. You know, they call you lot the Mad Men, being on Madison Avenue and all. Your Babylon. What do you think of that?”</p><p>       Don cocked his head. “What do I think of what?”</p><p>       “Do you think you’re mad? Sterling Cooper, I mean.”</p><p>       Don narrowed his eyes at her for a moment before smiling slightly. “You won’t make it in this business if you’re not.”</p><p>       Vivian returned his smile.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By four, Vivian had managed to interview a handful of Sterling Cooper employees – including a very nervous and bumbling Harry Crane, a nausea-inducing Paul Kinsey, the whip-smart Joan Harris (briefly, as Joan’s a very busy woman who doesn’t care for entertaining some girl, no matter her beauty), and a snot-nosed Pete Campbell – and was sitting across from Peggy Olson, one of Sterling Cooper’s most brilliant copywriters. Vivian laughed as Peggy recounted yet another embarrassing tale of male bravado that she’d experienced firsthand.</p><p>“That’s ridiculous!” Vivian exclaimed, baffled by the sheer incompetence.</p><p>Peggy shrugged. “That’s Madison Avenue.”</p><p>Vivian shook her head. “I don’t know how you do it, Peggy. I’m practically my own boss and I’m still mind-boggled by most of the men I have to deal with at the publishing house.”</p><p>“You get used to it.”</p><p>“But, why should you have to?” Vivian sat up straighter. “Why should you have to work to accommodate them. It’s them that have the problem with us, yet we’re the ones who have to make them feel okay about it. We’re the ones that have to assure them that we’re not trying to take their place, that we just want to be in the room.”</p><p>Peggy stared at her, about to respond, when her secretary’s voice resonated through her speaker. “Miss Olson, you have your four o’clock with creative in five.”</p><p>Peggy pressed the button on her intercom. “Thank you, Olive.” She looked across at Vivian, disappointed. “You’re right, about all of it. I agree, but that’s just the way it is for now, I guess. I’m sorry, I wish I could talk more. I don’t know if I was really any help.”</p><p>Vivian shook her head. “Are you kidding? You’re a visionary. It’s an honor to be in your presence right now.” Peggy chuckled and shook her head as Vivian dug through her purse for her business card. “Listen, I’ll be around Sterling Cooper probably for the rest of the week or so, but here’s my card. If you ever want to chat or grab lunch or drinks or something, just gimme a ring. Anytime.”</p><p>Peggy took it, truly touched by the gesture. “I’d love that. Thank you.” She walked to the door and opened it for Vivian who stepped out. She waved to Peggy as she headed to her left and down the nearest hall. She wasn’t sure exactly who she was looking to interview next, but she figured she’d run into somebody. And run into somebody she did. Just as she was making a sharp right towards accounts, she came face to face, or, rather, face to chest, with a familiar, tall man, bumping straight into him. She stumbled back momentarily as Ken Cosgrove put a hand on her waist to steady her. Unlike last time, Vivian finally got a good look at Mr. Cosgrove – his brown suit that brought out the brown flecks in his green eyes, the comb lines in his hair, his strong nose that sat just above an endlessly charming smile.</p><p>“Whoa, someone’s in a rush.” He returned his hand to his side. “You know, if you wanted an interview, you could’ve just asked. No need to throw yourself at me. Though it is much appreciated.”</p><p>Vivian sighed, hiding her secret, shameful sense of delight upon seeing him. “Mr. Cosgrove. What a sore sight for eyes.”</p><p>“I think you mean, ‘a sight for sore eyes.’”</p><p>“No, I meant what I said.” She smiled at him to signal she was only joking. She didn’t want to rub these guys the wrong way – not on the first day at least.</p><p>“You know, I thought you’d been avoiding me,” he said taking a step closer to her. “Does it turn out, I was right?”</p><p>Vivian stood her ground, looking up at him. “I mean…you do seem like the most unhinged of the bunch.”</p><p>Ken chuckled. “What can I say? My reputation precedes me.”</p><p>“Well, every novel needs an antagonist. You busy?”</p><p>“Always. But I think I can make time for you.” He held his arm out in the direction of his office that was just a few feet away. Vivian took the lead, giving a small wave to Ken’s sweet-looking secretary who nodded at her politely. She strode in, glancing around for something fascinating to latch onto. Unfortunately, it seemed like just about every other office in this place. However, his desk was curiously vacant of any picture frames, which Vivian noticed. Ken took off his brown jacket, hanging it up on a coat rack by the door. Just as the rest of the junior executives, Ken had a couch under the opaque wall that faced the hallway. He took a seat in the plush chair next to it and Vivian sat on the side of the couch nearest to him. Her notebook already in her hands, she set it on her lap, uncapping her pen.</p><p>Ken pulled a cigarette from the container on his coffee table that every Sterling Cooper employee seemed to have filled with Lucky Strikes. He kept it open, nodding to it in offering. Vivian took one gratefully and placed it between her lips. For the second time that day, she leant forward as Ken flicked his lighter, lighting her cigarette before his own.</p><p>He took a drag of his cigarette. “You know, has anyone ever told you that you look a bit like Audrey Hepburn?” he asked. Vivian rolled her eyes and took a drag as well, blowing a silky stream out through her crimson lips. Though she couldn’t blame him, especially in her fitted black dress that cut off at the sleeves.</p><p>“So far today I’ve gotten Vivien Leigh, Maggie McNamara, Jane Wyman – kill me –, Grace Kelly if she were a brunette, and Audrey Hepburn…three other times. Apparently, I’m Billy Wilder’s wet dream.” Ken laughed incredulously. “Honestly, you’d think at an advertising agency there’d be more creativity.”</p><p>“Grace Kelly. That’s it. That’s the best one. Damn. Who said that? Was it Harry?”</p><p>Vivian nodded. “He prides himself on his pop culture. Almost as much as your Paul Kinsey values people thinking he’s intelligent. Our whole conversation it was Kerouac this and Kerouac that.”</p><p>“He wouldn’t stop talking about you, you know. I think he’s the president of your book’s fan club.”</p><p>“At this point I don’t even think he’s read it. It’s nothing like Kerouac, just so you know.” She tapped the end of her cigarette on the ashtray on the coffee table.</p><p>“Duly noted. You know…he’s been going around saying you spent a lot of time in Don Draper’s office this morning.”</p><p>Vivian’s right eyebrow quirked up. “Is he now?”</p><p>“I’m telling you, he’s been keeping an eye on you. You better watch yourself.” He took a drag from his cigarette and Vivian followed suit.</p><p>“I appreciate the concern, Mr. Cosgrove.”</p><p>“Ken. Please. So – what’d you and Draper discuss?”</p><p>Vivian blew out another stream of smoke. “Oh, actually, I’m sleeping with him.”</p><p>Ken’s mouth dropped but quickly closed when he saw Vivian’s knowing smile. “Ah. You’re joking.”</p><p>“I am. And if you think this interview is going to be me snitching on your coworkers, you’ve severely miscalculated. So – how’d you get into advertising, Mr. Cosgrove?” Ken didn’t feel the need to correct her again. At this point, she had to be calling him that on purpose just to dig at him.</p><p>He thought for a moment. “I just sort of fell into it, I suppose.”</p><p>“So, it wasn’t for the fame and fortune? Or the receptionists?”</p><p>Ken chuckled. “I needed a job, so I found one. The perks are just that.”</p><p>“How blasé. Where’s the passion, the fire, the lies and deceit? Come on, Iago, open up.”</p><p>This time, Ken let out a full, hearty laugh. “Iago? Is that what you think of me?” Vivian shrugged playfully. “Well then, I’m sorry to disappoint.”</p><p>“No disappointment. I’m just trying to figure out the cast of the office.”</p><p>“So, which one am I, really, then? Othello?”</p><p>“Don’t be silly. You’re Desdemona.” She gave him a cheeky look and took another drag of her cigarette.</p><p>“Well, in that case, got any sad stories for me?” This time, it was Vivian’s turn to laugh. The kid knew his Shakespeare far better than she thought he would.</p><p>“What’d you go to school for, Ken?”</p><p>“Business. Columbia.”</p><p>“Well, I didn’t ask where,” she said with a sly smile, letting him know he was bragging. “But how’d you end up there? Where are you from, initially?”</p><p>“Burlington, Vermont. It’s not much, but it’s home. I joined the Navy straight out of high school, which paid for college. And, somehow, with a lot of luck, I fell into advertising.”</p><p>“So, what does an accounts man do exactly?”</p><p>Ken chuckled. “What have these boys been talking to you about that you still don’t know what an accounts man does?”</p><p>Vivian smiled and shook her head. “Oh, I know what they do. Pete Campbell made sure to give me a lengthy, condescending spiel. I just want to hear an explanation in your words.”</p><p>“Right,” he said. “Well, it’s essentially being a middle man between client and creative. It’s meeting people, keeping them happy, putting out fires. I’m afraid it’s not very interesting.”</p><p>“On the contrary, Mr. Cosgrove. And how do you keep your clients happy?”</p><p>“Well, the cliché is the customer’s always right.”</p><p>“And is it true?”</p><p>“Clichés stick for a reason, don’t they?” He took a pause and a drag, blowing the smoke out. “But, you know, I don’t know if I believe the customer’s always right. I mean, Don Draper’s proved they’re not more than a few times. They just want to think that they’re right. My job is convincing them that our ideas were their ideas all along.”</p><p>“Sounds complicated.”</p><p>Ken shrugged. “Not really. Dinners, drinks, groveling. Booze helps a lot.”</p><p>“I should think so. So, why does accounts hate creative then?” Vivian leaned closer towards him, interested. He was the first man she’d interviewed that didn’t try to redirect her questions to something he wanted to talk about. Instead, he answered them. Simply and honestly. Well, somewhat honestly.</p><p>Ken laughed. “We don’t,” he said. Vivian gave him a knowing look. “Well, I don’t,” he clarified. “As for the others…I’m not sure. Jealousy, maybe? Everyone wants to think they’re an artistic type, not everyone’s cut out for it.”</p><p>“You are. From the way people talk about you, you’re quiet the writer. There’s a lot of people green in the face because of that. Why aren’t you a copywriter?”</p><p>“I don't like to limit my words. And I don't like puns," he added, making Vivian smile. “Writing’s just for fun. It’s a hobby.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>He nodded. “Accounts is my job. It’s what I’m good at. That, and it pays better.”</p><p>“You’re good at writing,” Vivian said, only registering it after she’d already said it.</p><p>“And how would you know that?”</p><p>“I…” Vivian knew she was caught. “I read your story – ‘Tapping a Maple on a Cold Vermont Morning.’ Mr. Campbell was very helpful in that department. He wanted to see what a ‘real writer’ thought of it.” She put air quotes around the words ‘real writer.’ Ken took a drag of his cigarette nervously. He could feel his palms start to sweat a little and he was just hoping he wasn’t flushed.</p><p>“And?” he dared to ask.</p><p>“It was good. Really good. Honestly. I can see why he’s green.” Ken smiled, feeling proud, but not knowing what to say. “Do you have others?” Vivian continued.</p><p>“Uh, well, yes. Not published. Not even finished, really.”</p><p>“Well, I’d like to read them sometime,” Vivian told him genuinely and he smiled.</p><p>“Is this just a way of getting me to spill dirt? You flatter me in exchange for some agency secrets?”</p><p>Vivian laughed. “I’m translucent to you, aren’t I?”</p><p>Ken’s took a final drag of his cigarette and stamped the butt on the coffee table ashtray. “Well, it’s working,” he declared. “Ask me anything you want.” Vivian cocked her head, intrigued. She shifted her legs so she was crossing them the other way, her foot closer to him.</p><p>“Anything?” she said mischievously.</p><p>Ken nodded in response, holding his arms up in surrender. “I’m an open book.” Ken liked her, he did. And the fact that she got to sit like this, alone, with the other men, especially Kinsey, burned him up inside. He wanted to keep talking to her and would do anything to make that happen – even if it meant complete and total honesty.</p><p>Without skipping a beat, Vivian asked, “How much money do you make per week?”</p><p>Ken stared her down, an amused smile spreading across his face. “Three fifty.”</p><p>Vivian clicked her tongue in mock disappointment at the significant number. “Pity…are you married, Mr. Cosgrove?”</p><p>He looked her up and down without shame, causing Vivian to roll her eyes. “Not yet.”</p><p>“Why not? Most of your colleagues are.”</p><p>Ken chuckled. “Most of my colleagues are morons. Should I want to be that too?”</p><p>“Can I quote you on that?”</p><p>Ken crossed his legs, setting his foot on his knee. “No, you may not.”</p><p>Vivian smiled, almost playfully. “So, are you insinuating that marriage is moronic?”</p><p>“Not exactly.”</p><p>“Well then, why aren’t you married? The bachelor life just too sweet?”</p><p>He shrugged. “Just haven’t found the right girl yet. Why? You interested?”</p><p>Vivian rolled her eyes and leant back in her chair, taking a drag of her cigarette. “Not in the slightest.”</p><p>“Vivian Cosgrove. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”</p><p>Vivian scoffed, stamping out her cigarette on the ashtray. “Hardly.” She was getting defensive now, trying to convince herself that his charm had subsided and been replaced with arrogance. But, however seemingly arrogant he may have been, Vivian simply didn’t want to admit to herself that part of it was working. She was, in fact, being charmed.</p><p>Ken saw the fire blazing behind her eyes and it tickled him. “Did you ask my colleagues these same questions?”</p><p>“I didn’t have to. Most of them are married,” she answered professionally.</p><p>“Doesn’t stop them.”</p><p>Vivian shook her head. “What is it with you advertising men?”</p><p>Ken’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Pardon?” </p><p>“You lot always seem to have something smooth to say back. Some neatly packaged remark or witticism. So quick. And don’t take that as a compliment, by the way, because that’s not how I mean it.”</p><p>Ken smiled, perplexed by her attitude. “How should I take it then?”</p><p>“Any way you’d like, just not as a compliment.”</p><p>“Being quick is part of my job description, Miss Boudreaux,” he said, addressing her formally as she’d been doing to him, even though it drove him crazy. “Got to be able to think on your feet. Keeps the clients happy.”</p><p>Vivian nodded, scribbling something down in shorthand and getting back to business. “Do you get to choose which copywriters you work with on accounts or are they assigned to you?”</p><p>“A bit of both,” Ken answered. “Certain copywriters are better for certain products. Take Peggy Olson for instance, have you met her yet?” Vivian nodded. “She does more of our feminine products – lipsticks, brassieres, etcetera. That’s not all she does, of course, but she’s put on those specifically, usually.”</p><p>“So, you’re saying only women can sell to women?” Vivian asked, writing something down.</p><p>Ken shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t say that. Our ads and sales were good before Peggy.” </p><p>“But now they’re better,” Vivian said, finishing his thought.</p><p>He shrugged. “Women just know women better.”</p><p>Vivian smiled. “That’s not something most men in this office would admit to.”</p><p>Ken nodded, knowing this. “Peggy’s one of our best. I take her with me wherever I go. It’s a deal we have – my accounts are her accounts.”</p><p>Vivian cocked her head to the side, highly intrigued. “Tell me more about that,” she said, prompting him to continue.</p><p>He smirked. “It’s not romantic, if that’s what you were wondering.” His brief allure dulled considerably, just as it did every time he said something foolish.</p><p>“I wasn’t,” she assured him. Although, perhaps, subconsciously, a small part of her was.</p><p>Ken held his hands up in a sort of shrugging motion and leant back in his chair. “Like I said, Peggy’s our best. You know she started out as Don’s secretary? And in just short of two years, she worked her way up to her own office. Not many men can say they’ve done that, let alone women.”</p><p>Vivian nodded. “I spoke with her. Whip-smart.”</p><p>“And she’s fearless too. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t easy for her. We didn’t make it easy on her.”</p><p>“I don’t doubt that.”</p><p>“But she’s strong. She is.”</p><p>There was a lull in the conversation. Ken glanced over at Vivian, who was scribbling shorthand ferociously on her notepad. Thankfully for Vivian, he wasn’t able to read shorthand. Most men weren’t. It was a skill typists and receptionists typically learned, and that occupation rarely included men. Ken never really thought the skill to be that important, but at that moment he was kicking himself for never learning at least the basics.</p><p>“Where’d you learn that? Shorthand.”</p><p>Vivian shrugged, still writing. “I picked it up here and there.”</p><p>“Secretarial school?” Ken inquired.</p><p>Vivian shook her head. “Just…here and there.” She chose her words carefully, always, but especially in professional settings like this. Yes, it was part of her job to joke and even flirt, make them feel comfortable so she could wiggle as much information out as possible. But she never liked divulging too much; she always kept her cards close to her chest, never revealing her hand fully. And if you ever thought she was, she was most likely bluffing. After all, she had an esteemed poker face.</p><p>Ken changed the subject. “You know, a couple of the guys and I are going out for drinks after work, let off some steam. I know they’d be just over the moon if you joined.”</p><p>Vivian put her hand on her heart, touched. “Wow, what an invitation. I assume this is the highest honor there is on Madison Avenue.”</p><p>“No, the highest honor is one of us taking you home,” Ken replied frankly.</p><p>Vivian let out a scoff but quickly regained her cool composure. “Shame. What a noble offer, but I’m sorry, I have to decline. I’m busy.”</p><p>“With?” Ken prodded.</p><p>“Prior engagement.”</p><p>“Boyfriend?” he asked, feeling dejected but never possibly showing it.</p><p>“Prior engagement,” Vivian repeated, refusing to answer his question any further. She stood, realizing she should go before she dared fall victim to his charm. Ken followed her lead, standing politely and walking towards her, picking up a business card from his desk as he did and handing it over to her.</p><p>“Thank you, Mr. Cosgrove.” She held out her hand. “This has been…enlightening.”</p><p>“My office is always open to you,” he assured her stepping closely, taking hold of her hand for just a second longer than she thought he probably should.</p><p>She pulled it out of his grasp gently. “I don’t doubt that,” she said with a coy smile before promptly exiting his office. She took a breath as she did so, overcome with the relief that her willpower was a fortified wall. Otherwise, she might have said yes to drinks.</p><p>Later that night, at home, Vivian compiled her notes, typing them up at her desk. Her talk with Harry Crane was interesting, especially when he discussed the actual facts and numbers of the expanding media department. She found it fascinating that one guy in his miniscule department’s whole job was to simply read the scripts to see if there’d be any material conflicting with certain commercials. Pete’s talk was less interesting – he wanted to talk about himself more than his job, where he went to school, what kind of blue blood family he came from, his wife and what kind of blue blood family she came from. But when he was talking about his job, it was all boasting about important clients and how much he spends on a typical client dinner – lobsters and steaks and Johnnie Walker Scotch. Paul didn’t talk much about work either. Instead, he was focused on detailing his time marching in Birmingham and proving he was worldly. None of this was particularly interesting to Vivian, especially not the part about the South. It’s not that she wasn’t interested in civil rights, because she was, but the way he talked about the South, like he was from there, was insulting. Not to mention the way that he pretended to be a white savior. And, not to mention, the way he undressed her with his eyes.</p><p>When it came to Ken Cosgrove’s page, she looked over the messy, scribbled shorthand that barely filled half of the page. With the others, Vivian had written pages upon pages of thorough notes on their mannerisms and the inflection of their voices – any and every minute facet she could pick apart about them. She left no stone unturned. But, with Ken, it was different. She’d barely written a thing. Yet she remembered every little detail like it was happening that second.</p><p>She’d already started organizing the cast of characters she’d planned to include in her book – and she wasn’t kidding when she said it was heavily based on Othello. She knew instantly that Don Draper would be her leading man. He just had that quality – the mysteriousness and, simultaneously, the charisma that enticed practically everyone he met. She knew it’d be hard to get to him, breaking into the Federal Reserve seemed more likely. As for Iago she’d considered further looking into Pete Campbell. There was just something about the junior executive that felt like he’d do anything for a teaspoon of success. He’d dig his claws into anything and anyone, reputation be damned. Of course, she’d have to make some changes – they should be working in the same department. But Don Draper’s character could never be an accounts man, so she figured changing Pete Campbell to creative wouldn’t be hard. But she wanted to include Peggy somehow. She’d make Peggy her Iago, determined and strong-willed, but she didn’t want audiences to dislike her. She wanted Peggy to be portrayed just as she is: persistent but not conniving. Joan could be seen as a classic Desdemona (with Roger as her Roderigo, as Vivian would soon come to find out). But she didn’t want Joan to be an object of desire. She wanted Joan to be written as she is – smart and powerful and far more competent than her male counterparts.</p><p>And then she thought back to Ken. The ever-so charming Ken Cosgrove. Her Cassio, no doubt. Although Ken wasn’t chief lieutenant to Don Draper, everything else seemed to be spot on. A debonair gentleman with the jealous Iago plotting his downfall. Although she desperately didn’t want to admit it, Vivian’s mind kept wandering back to her Cassio. And a small part of her wishes that she’d said yes to his invitation for drinks. But another, much larger part, knew that mixing work and play was a dangerous feat.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
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    <p>The second time that Vivian entered the building that housed the reputable Sterling Cooper, she was significantly less nervous than the first. She knew where she was going and already had the answer to whether or not she was allowed to be there, which was an added reassurance. She took the thirty or so floors up to Sterling Cooper and entered the bullpen filled with phones ringing and people running around, trying to be something bigger than themselves. She made her way past the onslaught of receptionists and secretaries towards Roger Sterling’s office. Vivian smiled with a small wave at Roger’s secretary who was currently preoccupied with a phone call. She pointed to Roger’s door in question and the secretary nodded, signaling to go inside.</p><p>“Jesus, it’s you again?” he asked, only half-annoyed. “She’s not my niece, Caroline!” he shouted without getting up from his seat. “You know, when I gave you free range of this office, I assumed it meant you’d be out of my hair.”</p><p>“Oh, Uncle Rog, you don’t mean that, do you?” Vivian joked, sitting down in the seat across from his desk.</p><p>“Please, have a seat,” Roger responded sarcastically.</p><p>Vivian pulled her notepad from her bag along with a pen. “I told you I wanted to interview everybody. You’re next on my list.” She showed him the list of employees she had written down on a page. “See – right there.”</p><p>“How did I not remember you?” Roger wondered aloud, making Vivian chuckle.</p><p>“It’s a mystery. So – do you have a minute?”</p><p>“For you? No.”</p><p>But Vivian wasn’t prepared to take no for an answer. “How many accounts are you responsible for here?”</p><p>Roger shook his head at her persistence. “More than a few.”</p><p>“Can you name some?”</p><p>“Lucky Strike,” he answered, expanding no further.</p><p>“That’s a big account,” Vivian noted.</p><p>“I’m a big boy,” he agreed.</p><p>Vivian leaned in, especially interested in her next question. “What made you sell Sterling Cooper to your friends across the pond? Puttnam, Powell, and Lowe.”</p><p>“Money,” he answered frankly. “And lots of it.”</p><p>“So, that’s it? You just sell your baby, Fantine?”</p><p>Roger chuckled. “It’s just business, honey.” Vivian paused, shocked by the sudden nickname. It took her back to another time and another place. One that seemed like a whole other world and one that she desperately didn’t want to remember. </p><p>So, she changed the subject. “Tell me about Don Draper.”</p><p>“Why?” Roger demanded, taking a sip of the drink Vivian didn’t even notice was in his hand.</p><p>“Sources say he’s the powerhouse of Sterling Cooper. What are your thoughts on that?”</p><p>“You know, people always do that. They always think that creative runs this place. Well, let me tell you Don Draper is not the powerhouse of Sterling Cooper. For god’s sake, his name isn’t even in the title. People always think that creative is the biggest part of the operation. But Don Draper could never do what I do. This place couldn’t run without accounts. It couldn’t run without me.”</p><p>“I wasn’t doubting that, Mr. Sterling. I know that you’re very important.”</p><p>Roger hit the desk lightly and pointed at her. “You’re damn right I’m important. Write that down on your little notepad.”</p><p>Vivian nodded. “Henceforth. What would you say is the best part of your job, Mr. Sterling?”</p><p>“Not being bothered.”</p><p>Vivian smiled. She knew he was just messing around but this was getting tiring. She figured she wasn’t going to get anything out of him, at least, not in this interview. So, she prepared to make her exit. But before she could do so, the ostensible Burt Cooper entered. Shoeless and just a bit clueless.</p><p>“Oh,” he said, looking from Vivian to Roger. “I’m sorry Roger, I didn’t realize you had company.”</p><p>“I don’t,” Roger assured him. “Burt Cooper, Vivian Boudreaux. Vivian, Burt. She’s a novelist and she’s picking brains until they bleed, so watch out.”</p><p>“A novelist?” Burt questioned, sitting down on Roger’s couch.</p><p>“She’s a friend of my daughter’s. Writing a book set in the magical world of advertising. Starring me, of course.”</p><p>Vivian chuckled. “Only the first half of that is true.” Just as she said this, Don and Lane walked in, apparently arriving for a meeting that Roger hadn’t mentioned. </p><p>“You’re still here?” Don asked brusquely, regarding Vivian.</p><p>Vivian shook her head – these men had no manners. “They were right. You advertising men are charming,” Vivian said sarcastically, standing up. “I’ll leave you all to it.” She nodded once and left Roger’s office, shutting the door politely behind her. As she did, she noticed the Sterling Cooper art director, Salvatore Romano, pass by and quickened her pace, stepping into time with him. She’d met him briefly yesterday, but he was far too busy to spare a moment. But, perhaps, then would be different.</p><p>“Mr. Romano,” Vivian greeted. “How are you today?”</p><p>He smiled warmly at her. “Busy. Very busy.”</p><p>“Too busy?” Vivian asked.</p><p>Sal sighed, checking his watch. “Give me an hour. Then we can sit down and talk.” Vivian grinned and nodded enthusiastically as they arrived at the art department office. Sal entered and Vivian was cascaded off in search of someone else. Luckily, she found Mr. John Hooker traipsing by all the secretaries headed towards Lane Pryce’s office.</p><p>“Mr. Hooker, hi, Vivian Boudreaux. I was wondering you had a moment to speak.”</p><p>John turned to her, haughtily. “Please direct all job inquiries to Mrs. Joan Harris.”</p><p>“No, Mr. Hooker. That’s not why I’m here. I’m a novelist. Mr. Sterling gave me permission to interview some of the more essential employees around the office. I’d like to know just how this place runs. And I’ve heard you’re the person to talk to.” She decided that a man with his attitude, flattery seemed to be the best angle. John smiled, pleased to hear her say as such. He stopped walking right before a door that he opened, holding his hand out in invitation.</p><p>“Please, step into my office.”</p><p>Vivian nodded and entered. “Is that an ant farm?” she asked, curiously, noting the small glass figure to her left.</p><p>“Mr. Cooper’s,” John answered, taking a seat behind his desk, straightening some papers here and there. “So, Miss Boudreaux, how can I assist you?” he asked, leaning back in his seat.</p><p>“I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the goings on around here. As I’m sure you know better than anyone.” She was beginning to sicken herself a bit with the sheer amount of sycophancy dribbling from her mouth. “First of all, how’s the merger going?”</p><p>“Well, it’s not a merger exactly. Puttnam, Powell, and Lowe bought out Sterling Cooper.”</p><p>“Of course, my apologies.”</p><p>“No matter.” Vivian thought about how, if it was really no matter, why he brought it up at all. “But it’s going quite well. Under the director of Mr. Pryce and myself, I’d say we’ve smoothly transitioned into business as usual.”</p><p>“Did you have to lose some people in the transition?”</p><p>“In any transition, you’re going to have to let some people go. But I’d say that part is largely over.”</p><p>“What made Mr. Pryce let go of Burt Peterson?”</p><p>“That’s confidential.”</p><p>Vivian smiled at him, batting her eyelashes every so subtly. “I know, I just…no one else really knows, so I thought perhaps you could be of some assistance. But, if you don’t know, that’s alright. It’s not a big deal.”</p><p>“Oh, no, I know,” John assured her. “I just…well, let’s just say that Mr. Peterson fell off the trolley more than a few times. And it was affecting his work.”</p><p>Vivian nodded, scribbling something down in her notepad. “I heard he called Sterling Cooper a ‘dying empire.’ Is that true?”</p><p>“He had a bit of an…outburst. It was quite unbecoming.”</p><p>“Do you think Sterling Cooper is a dying empire? Or did he mean advertising itself was a regime destined to fall?”</p><p>“I…” John was stumped. Before Vivian could get an answer out of him, Lane Pryce entered the office, looking about curiously.</p><p>“John, please, I’ve told you before, this is not your office.” Vivian smirked, turning around in her seat. “Oh, hello. I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. Lane Pryce, financial officer.” He held out his hand and Vivian shook it.</p><p>“Vivian Boudreaux.”</p><p>“Yes. Mr. Sterling mentioned you’d be auditing Sterling Cooper for a bit. Well, I’m sorry but Mr. Hooker and I have quite a lot of work to be done.”</p><p>Vivian nodded, standing up from her seat. “Of course. I’ll get out of your hair. But don’t think you can get out of this that easily, Mr. Pryce. I’d like to sit down with you eventually.” She smiled at him, looking up through her eyelashes, as it was something she knew men almost always fell for. He nodded politely and she left the office. She crossed the bullpen and headed towards Peggy’s office. She knocked on the doorframe, peeking in and seeing Peggy with her head on her desk, drooling onto her most recent copy.</p><p>“Hey you,” she called, causing Peggy to jump back up, a piece of paper stuck to her forehead. She snatched it off, embarrassed.</p><p>“Vivian. Hi. I’m, I’m sorry, I was just –”</p><p>Vivian smiled. “Burning the midafternoon oil?” she suggested, playfully.</p><p>“Something like that.”</p><p>“May I?” Vivian pointed to the seat across from her and Peggy nodded, gesturing to it. “Peggy, let me ask you something. What do you think of Pete Campbell?”</p><p>“Pete?” Peggy asked, stiffening up. “Why?”</p><p>Vivian shrugged, taking a seat across from her. “I just wanted to get your opinion.”</p><p>“He’s…,” Peggy didn’t know what to say. “He’s a hard worker.”</p><p>“You know that’s not what I was asking.”</p><p>“He’s…ambitious.”</p><p>Vivian laughed. “I didn’t ask for synonyms, Peg. Look, I’m not gonna rat on you or anything. I just wanted to know your honest opinion on people in the office. I can drop it if you’d like.”</p><p>“No,” Peggy insisted. “No. It’s, it’s fine. Sorry. Um, Pete’s ambitious. He’s a great accounts man – cut throat. Willing to do whatever it takes.”</p><p>Vivian nodded. “I picked up on that. So, if I may ask, how come Ken Cosgrove got to be head of accounts?”</p><p>Peggy shook her head. “I don’t know. Lane’s decision. I think I heard something around the office like Pete makes clients feel their needs are being met. But Ken makes them feel like they have no needs.”</p><p>“Interesting.”</p><p>“They’ve been talking about you around the office, you know,” Peggy informed her.</p><p>“Oh yeah?” Vivian leaned back in her chair. “And what have they been saying?”</p><p>“There’s…well there’s money on who’s going to take you home first.”</p><p>Vivian laughed incredulously. “And who are the contestants?”</p><p>“Mostly Paul and Ken.”</p><p>“How charming.”</p><p>“I just…I thought you should know.” Peggy almost regretted telling her, seeing the look on her face. It was just a flicker of a moment, but Peggy saw a disheartening look wash over Vivian’s face for a brief second. Then, as soon as it appeared, it was gone.</p><p>“No, thank you for telling me. Really.”</p><p>Suddenly, Peggy’s intercom buzzed. “Miss Olson, Mr. Draper wants you in his office as soon as possible.”</p><p>Peggy pressed her intercom button. “Thank you, Olive.” She sighed. “As soon as possible really means five minutes ago.”</p><p>Vivian nodded. “Of course.” She stood and exited the office with Peggy who bid her goodbye to head off to Don Draper’s office.</p><p>Throughout the day, Vivian spent some time interviewing Warren McKenna, Harry Crane’s employee and office mate, much to his chagrin, and spent some more time with Harry, who was telling her all about the next unaired episode of The Twilight Zone. Later, she was finally able to secure some time with the elusive Salvatore Romano, who insisted on sketching her while she asked him questions. He told her to consider it a bribe to make him look good in her book and, honestly, she took it. She liked Sal enough, she didn’t see herself painting him in a bad light to begin with. The drawing was just a bonus. By then, she’d decided to call it a day. As she took a sharp turn out of the art director’s office, she, yet again, ran into a familiar, tall, blonde man.</p><p>“How is it we’re always bumping into each other?” Ken Cosgrove asked, grinning and leaning up against the wall.</p><p>Vivian narrowed her eyes at him. “Maybe because you’re constantly lurking around corners, just waiting for me to be there.”</p><p>Ken put his hand on his heart. “I’m wounded. Genuinely.”</p><p>“You’ll recover,” Vivian assured him, walking away. Ken took this as an invitation to step in time with her.</p><p>“What’s that?” he asked nodding to the paper in her hand.</p><p>“I sat down with Salvatore Romano today. Got this free of charge.” She held it up without showing him and Ken snatched it right out of her hand. He stopped and held it out, looking it over. Vivian stopped with him and he held it up next to her face, comparing the two. He had to admit, the similarity was pretty spot-on. It was a caricature so her lips and eyes were bigger and her hair teased higher in the back. And, of course, her eyebrows took up most of her face. But, overall, it was a pretty fair representation.</p><p>“Mind if I keep this?” he asked brazenly. “I wanna frame it and put it on my desk.”</p><p>Vivian scoffed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She reached out to snatch it back but Ken pulled it out of her reach. She gave him a look that plainly told him to ‘knock it off,’ but, alas, Ken continued. When she tried to grab at it again, he switched the paper between his hands. She made one more move for it and he held it above his head, a daring, childish smile gracing his smug face.</p><p>“Very funny,” Vivian told him, clearly unamused. “Give it back.”</p><p>“Get a drink with me,” Ken insisted, stilling holding the drawing up.</p><p>Vivian looked up at him, visibly annoyed. “I don’t think so.”</p><p>“Come on. One drink.”</p><p>She sighed. “Mr. Cosgrove, ‘I do desire we may be better strangers.’” As You Like It.</p><p>“Well, ‘Frailty, thy name is woman,’” he shot back. King Lear. </p><p>Vivian put her hand on her hip. “If you think that drawing is that important to me, you’re sorely mistaken. Besides, I have dinner plans tonight.”</p><p>Ken shrugged. “I didn’t say it had to be tonight.”</p><p>“I have dinner plans every night.”</p><p>Ken sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to win this battle. Not just yet, anyway. “Fine. You win this round.” He handed her the drawing back. “But don’t think I’m giving up just yet.” And with that, he entered his nearby office, leaving Vivian finally at peace again. With day two under her belt, Vivian headed for the doors of Sterling Cooper, ready to spend another night of compiling notes and creating even more notes. Spreading pages out across her floor so wide, it looked like she’d gotten new carpeting and turning these people that’d she known only for two days into characters whom she’d known for years.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On Wednesday, Vivian mostly worked from home, typing furiously on her typewriter, trying to get together something that merely resembled a first chapter. Though, granted, she did make time for a lunch with Peggy and Joan. Honestly, she was shocked that she was able to get both of them out of the office – especially because she had assumed that Joan didn’t like her whatsoever. But, in wake of Joan’s departure form Sterling Cooper next week, Vivian thought, perhaps, she was simply feeling sentimental. Because as far as she knew, she was particularly friends with Peggy either. But Peggy insisted that they were friendly, if not friends. Vivian had invited them both out, wanting to thank them for lending them a bit of time over the week. Though she wasn’t done with Sterling Cooper yet, not in the slightest, she figured some thanks was in order. And the two accepted.</p><p>Not knowing what was good around Madison Avenue, the women took her to a cute diner down the street where they ate Monte Cristo’s and talked about anything and everything for a good forty-five minutes. Vivian insisted on paying, mostly hoping that would get her on Joan’s good side. There was something incredibly intimidating about Joan, something that made a lot of the men in the office both equally resent and respect her. But, from Vivian’s perspective, it was all respect.</p><p>“God, how do y’all do it?” Vivian asked them, referring to their line of work.</p><p>“Honestly?” Peggy began. “I kind of love it. Don’t get me wrong, the hours are long – I work a lot of Saturdays – and the men are just…incompetent sometimes. But the work feels…good.”</p><p>Vivian smiled. “There’s something rewarding about knowing you’re more competent than the rest of room, huh? Even if they don’t believe it.”</p><p>“And they don’t,” Joan assured her.</p><p>“God, I’ll drink to that,” Vivian agreed, taking a sip of her Coke.</p><p>Joan continued. “The question I get almost fifty times a day is always: ‘Is there a man I can talk to about this?’”</p><p>Peggy nodded, enthusiastically. “If I had a nickel for every time that I’ve suggested something that got disregarded and then Paul or Smitty or some man turned around and made the same exact one and got applauded for it…I’d be a Rockefeller.” Joan and Vivian laughed in understanding as Vivian picked up the check. Afterwards, they thanked her and she let them get back to the sausage fest that was Madison Avenue.</p><p>Thursday, Vivian didn’t take the subway towards Madison Avenue at all. Instead, she had a meeting with her publisher and dear friend, Dave Goldstein, whose office was located right on the outskirts of Midtown, just barely bordering the Upper West Side. He’d wanted to catch up, and see how her initial meeting with Roger Sterling went. She told him all about the snarky but, ultimately, generous Roger Sterling and her clearance around the Sterling Cooper office. Over lunch, Vivian regaled Dave with all of the hot office gossip she’d acquired and the people that most interested her. Of those people were Peggy Olson, Joan Harris, Ken Cosgrove, Pete Campbell, and the elusive yet infamous Don Draper. Even Dave had heard about Don’s reputation as a creative genius. Although Viking Books did all of their own marketing for books, Dave also owned a chain of bookstores scattered across Manhattan and was considering venturing from BBDO over to Sterling Cooper.</p><p>“If you do,” Vivian told him. “You should talk to Ken Cosgrove, head of accounts. Tell him I sent you. You’d like him – he’s tall, blonde, and a little too bold for his own good. Just your type.” She winked at him.</p><p>“Is he a friend of Dorothy’s?” Dave asked, intrigued.</p><p>Vivian sighed. “No, I’d doubt it. If he was, I’d be shocked. However, there is a Kurt Smith that works there, in creative. He plays for your team. He’s sweet and handsome. German.”</p><p>“I'm listening."</p><p>“You should set up a meeting. If you’re unhappy with BBDO, that is. Here, I have his card, actually.” Vivian dug through her purse, pulling out the tiny piece of paper for Dave and handing it to him.</p><p>“He gave you his card and you didn’t throw it back in his face? Vivian, dear, are you going soft on me?”</p><p>Vivian laughed. “Hardly. He’s…funny. Quick.”</p><p>“Honey, he’s in advertising. They’re all quick. That’s how they get you.”</p><p>Vivian rolled her eyes. “He hasn’t gotten anything. But give him a call and you could get some genuine, quality advertising. You and I both know Don Draper’s worth switching agencies for. And his creative team? Geniuses. Well, geniuses and Paul Kinsey. But Peggy Olson will elevate your business more than you ever thought possible.”</p><p>Dave pocketed Ken’s card. “Maybe I will give him a call. If nothing else, just to see the man with enough charisma to genuinely charm Vivian Boudreaux. I truly didn’t think it was possible.”</p><p>“I’m not charmed. In fact, I still stand by my theory that men above 34th Street are not worth the time or cab fare.”</p><p>Dave laughed. “Viv, babe, with men above 34th Street, I don’t think you’ll be paying the cab fare.” Vivian shrugged. “So, Ken Cosgrove. You think you’ve found your leading man?”</p><p>Vivian shook her head. “God, no. Don Draper is a leading man. Ken Cosgrove is a…side character. One that you root for, but maybe gets lost in the chaos. Lieutenant Cassio, easily.”</p><p>“Maybe you can be his Desdemona,” Dave said with the sly wiggle of his eyebrows. The Othello and other Shakespeare references were starting to get old.</p><p>“You’re not cute,” Vivian told him, matter-of-factly.</p><p>“And you’re lying to yourself.”</p><p>Vivian clicked her tongue. “‘How subject we old men are to this vice of lying.’” Henry IV. Dave grinned. That was something he loved about Vivian – no matter the comment, she always had a witty response back. It was no wonder she could keep up with the ad men of Madison Avenue. “He invited me to drinks Monday, with the whole office. And, again, on Tuesday, just him.”</p><p>Dave looked at her incredulously. “And you said no because….”</p><p>“I wasn’t sure,” Vivian defended herself. “I’ve never done this before. Research. Cadillac Neat was all me. I mean, me and Tommy. I wasn’t sure if mixing the personal and professional was…well, professional.”</p><p>“Vivian. There’s no system or code of conduct you have to follow. You wanted to do this. You make the rules.”</p><p>“So, you’re saying I should? Go out with all of them, I mean.”</p><p>“I’m saying the ball is in your court, babe. But, if it were me, I’d go. Get some drinks in them. Gets them talking and, soon, the secrets start flowing. You start to know everyone’s real opinions on things.”</p><p>Vivian nodded, taking a sip of her drink and thinking it all over.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By Friday, Sterling Cooper employees were running out of steam. And there was only so much prodding Vivian could do. So, she mostly conversed with the secretaries, who she found were actually far more eager to talk than any of the upper level management. It made her think that maybe she’d been going about it all wrong. Perhaps, to truly know the men of Sterling Cooper, she had to first know the women. The women who knew almost everything about their bosses – even more than their wives probably. However, most of these women kept their bosses’ secrets locked in steel vaults, afraid of losing their paychecks and their reputations. But, Vivian found that news often circulated among the pool, and in order to get everyone’s secrets she just had to dive deep into one loose lipped secretary.</p><p>And that secretary was sweet, young Beth Ann, Harry Crane’s right-hand woman. Harry Crane himself wasn’t known for his secret keeping, and Beth Ann was cut from the same cloth. She let spill all about Harry sleeping with Pete’s secretary, Hildy – and the weeks sleeping on his office couch instead of at home with his wife that followed. She also mentioned rumors such as some of Don Draper’s conquests (including Peggy sleeping with him to get her copywriting position, which Vivian severely doubted), Roger and Joan’s affair (never proven to be true either), and Cooper’s Rothko painting that a group of execs and Roger’s new wife, who started out as Don’s secretary, broke in to see. Vivian began to wonder if this was a business or a brothel.</p><p>Vivian, also finally got to sit down with both Lane Pryce (granted for only a couple minutes) and Kurt and Smitty Smith (not related, despite having the same last name). Smitty really didn’t have all that much to say – it was mostly mindless flirting – but Kurt, the German wunderkind, seemed fairly interesting. She’d known since her first day at the office that Kurt was gay – information as savory as that traveled quickly. As much as it pained her to admit it, that wasn’t something you often saw (or, at least, knew about) on places such as Madison Avenue. They were there, god knows they were, but they weren’t often open about it. And there were plenty of valid reasons why – hate and bigotry. But Kurt wasn’t scared or ashamed and Vivian appreciated that about him. Maybe one could chock it up to just being European, but that disregarded the sheer bravery Kurt possessed. Vivian admired him for it, really. Honestly, she wanted to set him up with Dave but didn’t know him well enough to know whether they’d actually be good together or whether they were just two gay men she knew in 1963. Either way, she figured if Dave gave Sterling Cooper a call, they’d meet anyway. And, as it turns out, Dave did give them a call. As Vivian was walking from the break room with Kurt and Smitty, chatting with coffees and cigarettes in their hands, they passed by Ken Cosgrove’s office.</p><p>“Miss Boudreaux,” he called to her from his desk. She handed Smitty her coffee and waved the boys to go on without her, lingering in Ken’s doorway. “I was hoping you’d be in today. We missed you for a couple days now.”</p><p>“Oh, did we?” Vivian asked playfully.</p><p>He stood, holding his hand out, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Please,” he offered.</p><p>Begrudgingly, or at least pretending so, Vivian sat down. “Am I in trouble? Because I feel like I’ve just been called to the principal’s office.”</p><p>Ken laughed as he ventured around his desk, leaning up against the front of it. “Quite the opposite,” he assured her. “I wanted to thank you.”</p><p>“Oh?” Vivian perked up, taking a drag of her cigarette. Ken slid an ashtray across his desk towards her and she tapped her cigarette ash on it.</p><p>“Dave Goldstein called me yesterday. Said you gave him my card?” he looked over her curiously. She remained silent, pleading the fifth. “Said a lot of things, actually. Talking about how he heard I was charming and whatnot. Now, he didn’t say who from but, you know, I put two and two together.”</p><p>Vivian nodded. “I’m sure that was hard for you.”</p><p>Ken grinned at her riposte. He pushed up from the desk and sat back down in his chair. “I wasn’t going to embarrass you with the details but he used the words ‘charming, bold, and charismatic.’”</p><p>Fucking Dave.</p><p>Vivian narrowed his eyes at him. “Yes, well, Dave’s a pathological liar, so I wouldn’t trust anything he says.”</p><p>“So, he was talking about a different Vivian Boudreaux, then?”</p><p>“It’s a very common name.”</p><p>Ken eyed her, yielding. “Well, I just wanted to say thank you. He and I are meeting for lunch next week to talk about moving Goldstein Books to Sterling Cooper.”</p><p>Vivian shrugged it off. “He was unhappy with BBDO. I want what’s best for him.”</p><p>“So – I take it he’s your circadian dinner plans?”</p><p>Vivian let out a chuckle. “God, no. Dave’s a friend. Published my first novel.”</p><p>Ken looked down, almost embarrassed at his assumption. “Right. Well, regardless. Thank you.”</p><p>“You better not let him down,” Vivian warned. “I don’t give endorsements lightly, Mr. Cosgrove.”</p><p>Ken smiled at this. “I wasn’t planning on it.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“Listen, a bunch of us are meeting up at this bar, PJ Clarke's, tonight after work. Execs, secretaries, etcetera. It’s got drinks, dancing, more drinks. If you’re still looking, I’m sure you can get the skinny on all the hot office rumors.”</p><p>Vivian raised a brow. “Two times in one week? Must be some kind of record.”</p><p>He shrugged. “Must’ve been a slow week.” She stamped out her cigarette. “Look – I’m just saying, I don’t know what kind of research you’re trying to do. But I think if you get a few drinks into some of these guys, they might be more willing to talk.”</p><p>“So, that’s your pitch? Me getting people drunk and loquacious? Integrity be damned?”</p><p>“Miss Boudreaux, if you think they’re not drunk and loquacious already, I think you may have to do another round of interviews.”</p><p>Vivian smiled. “Alright.”</p><p>“Alright? Alright, as in, you’ll go, alright?”</p><p>She gave a small shrug and nodded. “For research purposes only, of course.”</p><p>“Of course. For research.” They looked at each other. Vivian gave him a small, almost shy smile, one that he hadn’t really seen from her before. His expression was cheeky, a look that said he thought he knew how this night would end. Though, of course, he didn’t. A piece of hair fell into Vivian’s eyes and she looked away from Ken, down at her lap, tucking it behind her ear. Ken watched her do this, noticing how she didn’t hold eye contact for long. It was an odd habit for someone with seemingly so much confidence – someone as self-assured and witty, and dare he even say it, charming, as Vivian Boudreaux. Although he barely knew anything about her, one thing was crystal clear: she could hold her own at Sterling Cooper. And that was damn well impressive.</p><p>The lull in conversation was interrupted by the sound of Ken’s secretary through his intercom. “Mr. Cosgrove, I have John Deere on line one.”</p><p>Ken stood, making his way over to his desk. He pressed the intercom. “Thanks, Kathy,” he answered, before turning to Vivian. “Sorry, I have to take this.”</p><p>Vivian nodded. “Of course.” She capped her pen and stood with her notepad tucked under her arm.</p><p>“You’ll come to drinks, though?” he made sure.</p><p>Vivian thought it over for a moment. “I’ll come for a drink,” she conceded making Ken grin.</p><p>“We’ll see about that. PJ Clarke's, five o’clock. I’ll hold you to it.” He grinned and pointed at her before picking up the phone. “Mr. Wiman, how are you and the wife?” he greeted the person on the other side. Vivian noticed how his voice changed ever so slightly. He was still confident and charming but it was different, far more business-like and professional. Vivian grabbed her bag, slinging it over her arm. She held her hand up in a lazy wave at Ken and he returned the gesture. When she left, unbeknownst to her, Ken lifted up his phone base, taking it with him to the door. He pressed the receiver to his chest and poked his head out, gaining the attention of his secretary, Kathy.</p><p>“Hey Kathy, will you spread the word that we’re all going to PJ Clarke's in fifteen? Make sure Pete, Harry, and Paul know. Tell them Vivian Boudreaux will be there. Don’t leave that part out. The rest of the girls can come as well. Anyone’s welcome. And, uh, bring your beau, if you want.”</p><p>Kathy beamed. “Will do, Mr. Cosgrove.” He nodded, putting the phone back to his ear.</p><p>Four-forty-five and Vivian wasn’t sure where to go next. People were already packing up, getting ready to go. Receptionists were covering their typewriters, sitting on the edge of their seats for their bosses to finally dismiss them for the day. The head honchos were pretty much gone already, leaving for drinks with their clients or wives. And the mid-level executives were just finishing up their work. So, Vivian headed to Peggy’s office, knowing she’d still be there. She knocked on the doorframe lightly, startling the focused copywriter.</p><p>“Oh. I didn’t know you were still here,” she said. “How was your talk with Kurt and Smitty?”</p><p>“Enlightening. Kurt more than Smitty. Smitty just wanted my home address. But Kurt was great to talk to. We talked about Bob Dylan for what felt like hours.”</p><p>Peggy nodded. “Kurt’s great.”</p><p>“Yeah. Listen, I just wanted to make sure you were going out with everyone tonight,” Vivian said, changing the subject.</p><p>“Tonight? Everyone?”</p><p>Vivian furrowed her brow. “Yeah, Ken said everyone had plans to go for drinks at PJ Clarke's tonight? At five?”</p><p>Peggy smiled knowingly. “Oh. I see.”</p><p>“See what?” Vivian asked, bemused.</p><p>“There were no previous plans to go to PJ Clarke's. Ken’s probably scrambling to get everyone to go as we speak. As if it was already set in stone.”</p><p>Vivian laughed. “Really?” Peggy nodded. “Well, he fooled me. Not an easy feat. Even so, will you come with? Please, I’ve already said yes. I can’t handle any more of these men without you. And copious amounts of alcohol.”</p><p>Peggy chuckled. “Well. I mean, PJ's is great for dancing. And if everyone’s going….”</p><p>“You’ll go?”</p><p>Peggy smiled and rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’ll go.”</p><p>“Oh, thank god,” Vivian said, trying to hide her slight excitement. “It’ll be fun. We can protect each other, fend them all off.”</p><p>“I don’t think it’s me they’re after,” Peggy said, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear.</p><p>“Oh, please, Peg,” Vivian replied putting her hands on Peggy’s shoulders. “Don’t pretend you’re not a catch. You’re beautiful and smart. That’s a priceless combination.” She gave her one little shake and dropped her arms.</p><p>“I don’t think the second part matters to most men.”</p><p>Vivian smiled. “I don’t think most men matter.”</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>PJ Clarke's was a tiny, little pub with a bar on one side, booths and tables on the other, and room to dance in the middle. It was close to Sterling Cooper’s office, on Madison Avenue, but still a bit of a walk – a walk during which, Vivian avoided Ken like the plague. She stuck to Peggy’s side, like she said she would, accompanied by Joan, with a couple of the receptionists and girls from the switchboard trailing behind them. In front of them were the boys, joking and laughing and shoving each other around. The autumn air was unusually brisk, unlike earlier in the day, and the girls in their short sleeves huddled together for warmth like penguins. Vivian noticed Ken look back at her here and there, as if to make sure she didn’t skip out on him. But he didn’t try to hang back with the women, as he wouldn’t dare leave his little posse.</p><p>At PJ's the men and women intermingled talking about work and the shit their bosses gave them that day (though a couple had to stifle their feelings, as their bosses were in the room). A few of them paired off to dance, some in a romantic sense, some just for fun. Everyone had a drink in their hand and smoke filled the room, creating a dreamlike haze. Vivian sat in a booth with Peggy and Joan, surveying the place and its occupants. The swift change between here and the office was fascinating to her – the light and breezy atmosphere compared to the tense one back at Sterling Cooper, the constant barrage of phones ringing that filled the air. Everyone here smiled and laughed. It wasn’t like they didn’t do that back at the office, they weren’t that serious, but it was a different type of smiles and laughter there – arrogant and filled with an underlying sense of fear. Fear of having the rug pulled out from under them.</p><p>“He keeps looking at you, you know,” Peggy told Vivian, taking a sip of her drink.</p><p>“Who?” Vivian asked innocently.</p><p>Peggy smiled. “Ken.”</p><p>Vivian rolled her eyes, taking a sip of hers as well. “Oh, is he?”</p><p>“Don’t pretend you didn’t notice,” Joan chided. “It’s unbecoming.”</p><p>“I didn’t notice,” Vivian insisted.</p><p>Joan nodded, unconvinced. “Sure.” Vivian turned around, making eye contact with him briefly. He stood at the bar with Pete, Harry, and Paul, his jacket off and his top button undone, tie just a little loose. He flashed her a smile and held his drink up towards her before she turned back to the women across from her.</p><p>“What’s he really like?” she dared to ask, not looking them in the eye. “Ken.”</p><p>Joan swirled her drink around. “He’s like the rest of them. He’s an idiot.” Vivian laughed.</p><p>“But he’s kind,” Peggy added. “His heart’s in the right place, even when his foot’s in his mouth.” Vivian laughed again. “He and I have this agreement, where he’ll bring me on all of his accounts. Wherever he goes, I go.”</p><p>“And that’s something you want?” Vivian asked sarcastically, making Joan let out a laugh.</p><p>Peggy nods. “He brings in great clients. And he knows I can do the work. He believes in me.”</p><p>Vivian smiled, looking down at her empty drink, shaking the ice around. “That’s sweet.”</p><p>Joan leaned in. “Between you and me, I don’t think he enjoys the bachelor life half as much as he pretends he does.” Vivian’s eyebrow quirked up. “Don’t get me wrong, he enjoys it. But I’ve heard from the girls that he’s secretly a sweetheart. A sensitive soul,” Joan joked mockingly.</p><p>Vivian scoffed. “Oh, please. That’s just dialogue. A writer will say anything.”</p><p>Peggy smiled. “No, I believe it. I can see it.” She nodded in Ken’s direction just as he pat Paul Kinsey on the shoulder and began venturing towards their booth.</p><p>“What’re you girls talking about?” he asked with a devilish smile.</p><p>Vivian tilted her head up and peered at him through her lashes. “You.” His eyes widened a bit in surprise at the honesty. “Your partnership with Peggy, here.”</p><p>Ken grinned putting his hand on the back of Peggy’s booth. “Well, Peggy’s the best. And I only work with the best.”</p><p>“That she is,” Vivian noted.</p><p>“Can I get you ladies another round?”</p><p>Vivian laughed, turning to Joan and Peggy. “I think I’ve drank more with your office this week than I have the last month.”</p><p>Ken shook his head. “And you call yourself a writer. What’re you all drinking?”</p><p>“I’m good, thanks,” Peggy answered.</p><p>“Peggy,” Ken said giving her a look. “It’s Friday. Eat, drink, be merry.”</p><p>“I think that only applies if I’m okay with dying tomorrow,” she countered making Vivian and Joan laugh.</p><p>“I’m buying,” he insisted, sweetening the pot.</p><p>Joan spoke for her, “She’ll have another vodka soda with lime. As will I. Vivian?”</p><p>Vivian slid her empty glass aside as Ken directed his sole attention onto her. “I’ll drink whatever you think I do.”</p><p>Ken blinked, puzzled, but then smiled. “Alright. I’ll take that challenge.” He left to the bar and Vivian turned back to Peggy who stared at her incredulously.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Peggy shook her head. “Nothing…you’re just so…confident. It’s, it’s impressive.” Even Joan looked slightly impressed.</p><p>Vivian smiled, almost embarrassed. “Years of practice, Peggy. Trust me.” Peggy nodded.</p><p> “You better get over there and make sure he doesn’t screw it up,” Joan told her. Vivian nodded and stood, bending over and placing her hands on the table.</p><p>“Remember, ladies. You’re in control. Of all of it. But mostly of them.” She pointed at the men huddled around the bar and turned, headed after Ken.</p><p>Joan turned to Peggy. “She’s a fool.”</p><p>“I think she’s nice. And clever.”</p><p>“Too clever. She’s got him wrapped around her finger so tight she doesn’t even realize it’s turning blue.”</p><p>Ken stood amongst the men at the bar yet again as Vivian made her way towards him. Pete Campbell and Harry Crane were chatting about their wives while Ken and Paul Kinsey were discussing the details of the Bacardi Rum account. Ken noticed her approaching and turned to her, followed by Paul.</p><p>“Miss Boudreaux, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Paul asked.</p><p>“Just making sure our waiter doesn’t botch our drink order,” Vivian replied, putting her hand on Ken’s arm for a brief, but electric, moment. “What are you boys talking about?”</p><p>“Bacardi Rum,” Ken answered.</p><p>Vivian chuckled. “Well, I hope that’s not what you got me.”</p><p>Paul tilted his chin up, intrigued. “Why not?”</p><p>Vivian turned to him. “It’s not my drink.”</p><p>“Yes, but why?” The Bacardi research had gotten this response a lot in their surveys, but creative still didn’t quite understand why that was.</p><p>Vivian didn’t really know how to respond either. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t want it by itself and every cocktail it’s in is too sugary.”</p><p>“It’s fun, it’s tropical. What’s not to like?”</p><p>Vivian shrugged. “I prefer drinks catered to the urban jungle.”</p><p>Paul furrowed his brow. “Bacardi Rum. When every day’s a vacation.”</p><p>“A getaway in a bottle,” she threw back.</p><p>Paul shook his head. “Getaway makes people think of a high-speed chase.”</p><p>“Okay,” Vivian continued. “Bacardi Rum. A stay-cation.”</p><p>“Stay-cation?” Ken piped up.</p><p>Vivian nodded. “A vacation at home.”</p><p>Paul thought for a moment, wide-eyed. “I gotta find a pen.” And with that, he ran off. Vivian laughed incredulously, turning her attention solely to Ken.</p><p>“You’ve just made that poor bastard’s night,” Ken chuckled.</p><p>Vivian smiled at him and shrugged. “Well, hey, if writing novels doesn’t work out, maybe I’ve got a future in advertising.”</p><p>“I’m sure you’ve got a spot at Sterling Cooper any time you want it,” he assured her with a grin just as the bartender placed a round tray of four drinks on the counter in front of them.</p><p>Vivian took a deep, audible breath in preparation. “Alright. What’d you get me? What’s my signature drink?”</p><p>Ken stood up straighter, mimicking her. “Your drink…is whiskey, neat,” he declared, spinning the tray around so the amber liquid faced her. Vivian looked down at it with a poker face. When she glanced back up, she saw the slightest falter in Ken’s expression, just a quick glimpse of uncertainty. But it was quickly replaced with a steel façade of accounts man confidence.</p><p>“Why?” was all she asked at first.</p><p>“All the best novelists drink whiskey,” he replied, as if he’d said it over and over to himself in his head.</p><p>Finally, Vivian smiled. “The whiskey’s right. But I take it on the rocks.”</p><p>Ken sighed and hit the counter with his fist lightly. “Damn. So close.” He turned to the bartender. “Can she get some ice, please?” The bartender placed two ice cubes in her drink and Vivian took the cool glass in her hand.</p><p>“Thank you,” she told him and he nodded, walking off to take another order. She took a gentle sip of it and Ken watched her – her cherry lips staining the glass. She felt the liquid courage slide down her throat and swallowed.</p><p>“Is this what you drink then?” she asked, noting the other dark liquor on the tray.</p><p>Ken nodded and took a swig of his as well. “Well, yes, but I drink it neat, like a real writer.”</p><p>Vivian rolled her eyes. “Maybe I misjudged you after all, Hemingway.” She picked up one of the vodka sodas and made her way back to the booth where Peggy and Joan sat, now accompanied by Paul. Ken grinned as he watched her go – the smug swing of her hips, as if she knew exactly what she was doing. And she almost did. Ken followed behind her with the other two drinks, sliding into the booth next to her. Paul had brought up an extra chair and placed it beside Peggy, showing her a scribble he did on a napkin.</p><p>“You see, it’s a couple just at home lounging in lawn chairs. An umbrella over them and the bottle of Bacardi on the table in between. Bacardi Rum: A Stay-cation.”</p><p>“Stay-cation?” Peggy wondered aloud.</p><p>“A vacation at home,” Vivian answered sliding Joan her drink as Ken did the same for Peggy.</p><p>“Vivian thought of it,” Paul admitted.</p><p>Peggy nodded, thinking it over. “I like it. It’s a tropical getaway without ever leaving your house. But if you’re going to make it lawn chairs, they have to be elegant. Like they’re sitting pool side.”</p><p>“Do you think Don will like it?” Vivian asked, causing Peggy and Paul to shrug.</p><p>“Don doesn’t like anything,” Paul answered, bitterly.</p><p>Joan scoffed and shook her head. “That’s not true.”</p><p>“I can never confidently say what Don will or won’t like,” Peggy told her honestly. “But this is good. I think it has a chance.” Vivian smiled, pleased. It was her first week at Sterling Cooper, not even employed, and she was already pitching ideas and making a difference. For some, inexplicable reason, that made her proud.</p><p>“Look, it’s after five. Can we not talk about work for just once?” Joan requested causing Paul and Peggy to grumble.</p><p>“My timecard doesn’t dictate when inspiration strikes,” Paul informed her, matter-of-fact.</p><p>“You don’t have a timecard, Paul,” Joan shot back. Vivian could sense there was an old something between her and Paul. She’d even heard a rumor floating around the office that they’d slept together a while back. But Paul’s big mouth got in the way. Vivian noticed Joan’s large, diamond engagement ring and gold wedding band glistening under the lights in the bar. She bet it blinded Paul as they spoke.</p><p>“Joan’s right,” Ken agreed, casually placing his arm on the top of the booth backing, around Vivian’s seat. “I’m sure genius creative types like you can find something else to talk about other than work.”</p><p>Peggy and Paul glanced at each other, unsure, as Joan downed her drink. “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m off.”</p><p>“What? You’re going?” Vivian asked, disappointed.</p><p>“The party’s just getting started,” Ken agreed.</p><p>Joan gave him a knowing smile. “When you get married, you’ll understand.” Peggy stood, letting Joan slide out of the booth. Ken, Vivian, and Paul stood as well, politely. “Glad you came out, Vivian. I hope I’ll see you soon?”</p><p>“I’ll swing by the office here and there. If for nothing but a lunch. We’ll see each other,” she assured her. “You run that place after all. They should change their name to Sterling Cooper Harris.”</p><p>Joan smiled and waved to everyone. “Goodnight,” she said before turning and heading out of the bar.</p><p>“You really know how to work people, don’t you?” Paul commented, staring her down. “Forget creative, you could be an accounts man.”</p><p>Vivian shook her head, confused, sitting back down. “I was being honest. With the way I’ve seen y’all work, it’s a miracle Sterling Cooper is functional at all. And that miracle’s name is Joan Harris.” Ken let out a laugh, nodding in agreement.</p><p>Paul turned to Peggy, ignoring Vivian’s comment. “We should find Smitty, run this by him, see what he thinks.”</p><p>Peggy sighed. “We’ll be back,” she assured Vivian.</p><p>“Don’t work too hard!” Vivian called after them as they vanished further into the bar that seemed to be getting busier and busier. People crowded the bar and some of the girls started bringing the men to the dance floor as a light, dance tune floated from the juke box.</p><p>“And then there were two,” Ken said with a smile that made Vivian roll her eyes and take a sip of her drink to keep from smiling back. He returned his arm to the back of her seat and slid towards her just slightly. So slightly that Vivian wrote it off as a move to hear her better, with the music getting louder as more and more people danced. But, either way, she turned towards him, still leaving inches of separation between their legs.</p><p>“Alright, so let me ask you something, Mr. Cosgrove.”</p><p>He chuckled. “You’ve been asking people things all week. What happened to leaving work at the office?”</p><p>“Sterling Cooper’s not my office.”</p><p>Ken nodded in agreement, gesturing his glass towards her. “Shoot.”</p><p>“We’ve established you’re not Hemingway, not really. You don’t seem like a Fitzgerald or a Salinger, god forbid. So, who are you?”</p><p>“Sorry, did I not introduce myself?” He held out his hand. “Ken Cosgrove, accounts man.”</p><p>Vivian held it lightly for a brief moment, not failing to notice the way his large hand engulfed hers. “Cute,” she said, dryly.</p><p>“Do I have to be someone other than me?” he asked, letting her hand go back to her glass.</p><p>“Everyone is copying someone, Mr. Cosgrove.”</p><p>“What’re you then?” he dared to ask her.</p><p>Vivian sighed. “I suppose I’m some sad middle ground between a Plath and a Vonnegut. And a Kerouac according to Mr. Kinsey, but I wouldn’t say I particularly agree with that one.”</p><p>“So, you’re a melancholic satirist then?”</p><p>“Is there any other kind?” she asked jokingly.</p><p>Ken chuckled and nodded. “I’ve been compared to Vonnegut before. And Bradbury, I suppose. And Steinbeck, oddly enough.”</p><p>“A curious amalgamation,” Vivian noted.</p><p>“Of course, Kinsey said my writing was like ‘if Allen Ginsberg voted for Nixon.’”</p><p>Vivian laughed. “I wouldn’t even know how to identify something like that.”</p><p>“Harry said I was the waspy version of Philip Roth.”</p><p>Vivian let out another laugh, gesturing with her drink to emphasize what she was saying. “See? That’s exactly my point. Everyone only knows how to judge you based on someone else’s work. It’s pretentious and hollow but it’s unanimous. It’s, it’s gastric.”</p><p>Ken furrowed his brow. “Gastric?”</p><p>“Gastric.” Vivian nodded, refusing to expand on the definition.</p><p>He grinned at the vigorous passion in her voice she spoke about authors and writing and the arrogance of publishing. “You wanna dance?” he asked her suddenly, making her look up from her drink that she swirled around absentmindedly.</p><p>Vivian smirked, regaining her cool and reserved composure from before. “I don’t dance,” she told him definitively. He shook his head before downing the last of his drink and standing up from his spot. He towered over her, holding his hand out.</p><p>“Come on. You can follow my lead. I can make anyone look good.” He gave her a charming smile and she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. Ken nodded once in the direction of his hand, signaling for her to take it. She sighed and lifted her drink to her lips, downing the last of hers as well. Then she set it down and took his hand willingly, sliding out of the booth.</p><p>“Don’t make me regret this,” she warned as he pulled her to the dance floor just as Chubby Checker’s hit single The Twist began blasting through the juke box, causing all the girls to squeal in delight. Though it was a couple years old, The Twist still seemed to get everybody moving. Vivian jumped slightly at their screaming, looking wide-eyed at Ken who chuckled. Shaking it off, she gave a small laugh as well. The dance floor was as crowded as ever, everyone dragging someone else along with them. Peggy had gotten Kurt and Smitty to dance, Paul was with Draper’s receptionist, and the married Harry Crane paired up with Pete’s secretary, Hildy, despite his preexisting condition. Pete, however, sat at the bar by himself, looking as though he was sulking. Vivian barely noticed this as Ken swung her into the middle of the dancefloor filled with people smiling and twisting until their heart’s content. Despite the dance being older, it was still a fan favorite.</p><p>Ken was definitely right when he implied he was a good dancer, and Vivian was definitely lying when she said she didn’t dance. Together, they twisted, Ken inching closer and closer as they did and Vivian inching back playfully. It was like a game of cat and mouse, but, somehow, they both thought they were the cat. Vivian looked up at Ken through her lashes and she couldn’t help but smile. The way he grinned at her was almost childlike, full of fun and joy. Vivian knew men her age were still really just boys on the inside, and she could see it on his face. And, honestly, it made her like him all the more. He wasn’t…cynical, not like the rest of them. Arrogant, maybe, but just a little. And charming as all hell. He kept his eyes on Vivian as they danced. With his knees bent and feet twisting, he was almost her height. And the way she smiled at him…it made him melt. He could’ve sworn that if he got any closer, he’d burn up and turn into a puddle on the floor. Of course, that didn’t stop him from trying. He was the cat and she was the mouse. He knew he was.</p><p>When the song ended, Vivian’s hesitation to dance was a thing of the past. Elvis Presley’s Jailhouse Rock came on right afterwards, another oldie but goodie, and Ken immediately took her hands, pulling her in for a fun, lighthearted jitterbug. A few minutes later, the Orlons’ Wah Watusi came on and Vivian wrinkled her nose – an action that Ken found adorable. She shook her head.</p><p>“Come on, I wanna pick a song.” Filled with excitement, she grabbed his hand, pulling him over to the jukebox. She looked at the first few songs, bouncing eagerly on her toes. “Oh, my purse,” she said and turned back upon realization. But Ken planted his hand on the small of her back, keeping her in place.</p><p>“Please,” he said, as if she was being ridiculous. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a nickel, pushing it into the slot. Vivian looked up at him briefly, smiling, though he didn’t notice. He kept his hand on her back and his other pressed on top of the box, focusing on the song selection before them. So, Vivian turned her attention back to the box as well. She pressed the browsing button repeatedly, flipping through the songs.</p><p>“Oh, I love that one,” she said, pointing to Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire.</p><p>Ken shook his head. “You can’t dance to that.”</p><p>Vivian shoved him with her hip slightly, making his hand leave her back. “I know. I’m just saying.” Ken grinned at her newfound lively nature and slid his hand from her back to her waist, giving her a quick squeeze that made her squeal and laugh. He looked over her shoulder and Vivian could feel the heat from his body behind her as she flipped through more songs.</p><p>“That one too. It’s gonna be a classic, just you wait,” she commented again, tapping her finger on the glass towards Bob Dylan’s Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright.</p><p>“You would say that, wouldn’t you?” Ken responded.</p><p>Vivian looked up at him, curiously. “What’s that supposed to mean?” It was only then that she realized how close together they really were, as she stared up into his eyes.</p><p>He smiled. “Nothing,” he replied.</p><p>“Mark my words, he’s the zeitgeist of our generation, Mr. Gould.”</p><p>“Who?” Ken asked.</p><p>Vivian went back to flipping through songs. “The journalist who criticized Elvis for having no discernable singing ability. People say that about Dylan now, but you’ll see. He’s gonna be a folk legend.” </p><p>Ken shook his head, stunned by her ability to somehow know a bit about everything. “Just pick something. Come on, the song’s about to end.”</p><p>“Okay, okay.” She flipped the pages a couple more times before she found exactly what she wanted, just as the Orlons sang their final note. “Got it.” She pressed the corresponding number and turned back to Ken. The familiar, more modern tune of Do You Love Me? by the Contours sounded through the bar.</p><p>“Come on,” she said before making the bold move of softly grabbing his tie and pulling him lightly to the dance floor. As she did, a wide-eyed Ken looked over to Harry and Paul who were staring right at him, jaws practically to the floor. It was then that Ken smiled wider than he possibly ever had. Vivian caught Peggy’s eye as she dragged Ken back to the dancefloor. She gave her a quick wink before turning back to Ken. For the first half of the song, Vivian and Ken danced facing each other, letting the music and alcohol wash over them, leaning in towards each other. Until, finally, Vivian wrapped her arm around Ken’s neck, pulling him in closer. He was shocked by the intimate move but went with it, sliding his hands around her waist.</p><p>Pete, Harry, Paul, and even Peggy watched this with wide eyes, Paul filled with disappointment and the others with envy. Pete and Harry were envious of Ken, the lucky bachelor, whereas Peggy was envious of Vivian. Not because Peggy was secretly harboring feelings for Ken or anything of that sort, but simply because Vivian was so confident and beautiful. She was smart and sarcastic and accomplished. Peggy wanted what Vivian had – that natural charm and charisma that people were drawn to. The magnetism that not only made her successful in her social life, but in her career as well.</p><p>Vivian was oblivious to everyone around her as she put her arms around Ken, swayed into decisions by only the Contours themselves. Ken pressed one hand against her back and leant rearward with the music, before bending her back a bit in the same fashion. Their eyes were locked on each other’s, neither of them noticing the world around them and neither of them caring that they didn’t. But, soon, the song had to come to an end and it did. And Doris Day’s cover of Dream a Little Dream of Me came on afterwards – chosen by some sad sap, no doubt, Vivian concluded. But from Ken’s vantage point, he could see Harry, Pete, and an unenthusiastic Paul standing by the juke box throwing him thumbs up of encouragement. Ken shook his head, but returned his gaze to Vivian who looked a bit uncomfortable and embarrassed by the song selection. Ken took her hand gently in his anyway and placed his hand firmly on her waist. Vivian shook her head and tried to break away but he took her hand again.</p><p>“Come on,” Ken encouraged her. “Dance with me. Just one more.”</p><p>Vivian shook her head a second time. “I…I should go find my purse.” She dropped his hand and stepped away, and this time he let her. She walked back to their previous booth, feeling her heart beat with her hand. She didn’t know what made her panic just then, but that’s what she felt – panic. She had to break away from him or…well, or she didn’t know what would happen. And that scared her. But Ken followed her off the dancefloor to the table.</p><p>“Vivian, I’m, I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?” he asked, concerned.</p><p>Vivian took a breath and grabbed her purse, before turning with a calm smile planted on her face. “Of course not. I just…I told you, I’m not much of a dancer.” He nodded, letting her write it off as that though he simply couldn’t buy that that was the real reason.</p><p>Ken paused, only briefly thinking over his next move. “Do you wanna get out of here? Maybe grab a bite to eat?”</p><p>Vivian smiled, regaining her confidence from before. “I thought you’d never ask, Hemingway.” As she said this, they were approached from both sides by Ken’s coworkers – Peggy on one side and the juke box boys on the other.</p><p>“How you guys doing over here?” Harry asked, knowingly. Having witnessed the slow dance train wreck, all of the men had amused smiles on their faces, even Paul.</p><p>“We’re gonna grab a bite…anyone wanna come?” Vivian felt the need to add afterwards, extending the invitation to everyone. Ken couldn’t help but grumble internally about this. He hoped she was just doing it to be polite, but after what had just happened, he couldn’t be sure.</p><p>“No, no. I have to get home to the wife and baby. I’ve already be out too long,” Harry told them.</p><p>Pete nodded. “Me too. The missus is probably wondering where I am.”</p><p>“I’ll go,” Paul chimed in with a smirk, but Peggy held him back as he tried to leave.</p><p>“No, he won’t. We’ve got a long Bacardi-related conversation to have,” she assured the two. “You guys go. Have fun.”</p><p>“Actually, I have to powder my nose before we go, is that alright?” Vivian turned to Ken who nodded.</p><p>“Powder away.”</p><p>Vivian then turned to Peggy. “Peggy? Wanna come with?”</p><p>Peggy looked surprised but nodded and they sashayed off to the restroom, arm in arm, while the men made remarks about women always going to the bathroom in pairs. When Vivian and Peggy entered the tiny room, Vivian let out a deep breath.</p><p>“You okay out there?” Peggy asked, bordering on worried.</p><p>Vivian looked at Peggy through the mirror. “Just needed a breath is all.”</p><p>Peggy nodded as Vivian shuffled through her bag for her lipstick. “Paul’s an idiot. Don’t worry about him and the others. They’re just jealous, I think. You know, of Ken.”</p><p>Vivian laughed half-heartedly. “I don’t know what they’re jealous of. I was a mess out there.”</p><p>Peggy’s brows knitted. “No,” she said, insistent. “No, you were amazing.” Vivian scoffed and shook her head, recapping her lipstick and pressing her lips together. Peggy stared at her, confused and astounded that a woman that was so seemingly confident could feel that way. “I know we don’t know each other very well…but I admire you,” she told her earnestly.</p><p>Vivian smiled, feeling suddenly tired for some reason. “I don’t know why. But…thanks, Peg. I think the same of you, though I'm sure you've figured that out by now. Here,” she handed Peggy a different, lighter lipstick. “You should try this color. It matches your dress.” Peggy smiled and took it from her, trying it on as Vivian smoothed her flowing white, haltered dress, running her hand over the tiny buttons in the middle. She threaded her fingers through her loose brown locks, patting the back that was slightly teased, making sure it was staying put.</p><p>“I shouldn’t be worried, right?” Vivian asked, turning towards Peggy slightly.</p><p>“Worried?” she asked, puckering her lips together and wiping the excess from the corners.</p><p>“About going out with Ken.”</p><p>Peggy shook her head, seriously. “Oh, no. I mean, he’s an accounts man. He’s gonna try and charm you.”</p><p>“And is he quite persuasive?”</p><p>Peggy smiled. “Sometimes. But, just pretend you’re the client. You have nothing to lose, but him? He’s got everything riding on this.”</p><p>Vivian laughed. “I doubt that.”</p><p>Peggy shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve seen him work hard for it before, but…not this hard.” Vivian laughed again, smiling down at her hands. “Thank you,” Peggy said, holding the lipstick back out for Vivian.</p><p>“Keep it,” Vivian insisted. “I don’t use it much, anyway.” She entered one of the stalls behind them.</p><p>When Vivian and Peggy returned from the ladies’ room, the four men were still waiting by the booth where they’d left them, despite Harry and Pete’s comments about having to go home.</p><p>“Ready?” Ken, with his jacket back on, asked, focusing on Vivian who nodded.</p><p>“I think so,” she replied. Vivian turned to Peggy, giving her a quick hug. “I’ll stop by your office next week,” she whispered.</p><p>“I’ll be there. And I expect a full report on his behavior,” she said, staring Ken down.</p><p>He held his hands up in defense. “I haven’t done anything yet,” he feigned innocence.</p><p>“Yet,” Pete emphasized, making the men laugh and the outnumbered women roll their eyes.</p><p>“As for you guys,” Vivian said turning back to the men. “If you think I’m done with you all, you’re sorely mistaken. I’ll see you around the bullpen.” She walked towards Ken, who was holding out his arm for her, but passed him, continuing to the door. Ken stood looking foolish, giving his coworkers a confused look.</p><p>“Coming?” Vivian called, looking over her shoulder. Ken grinned at the men and shrugged, following after Vivian. They all laughed and shook their heads, secretly dying to know what kind of night Ken had in store for him. Together, the two made their way out of the pub and onto the city streets of Manhattan.</p><p>“So, where do you want to go? Delmonico’s? Barbetta? Sterling Cooper’s on good terms with both of them, so I’m sure I can get us a table without a reservation.”</p><p>Vivian thought for a moment and shook her head. “No, I think I have something else in mind.”</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Well, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Ken said, looking around the greasy, old diner. “But I like this. This is nice.”</p><p>“I’m glad you approve,” Vivian replied sarcastically, glancing down at her menu. Instead of sticking to the Upper East Side and going to some haughty restaurant with too many forks, Vivian took Ken down south to her favorite diner in Greenwich Village. She’d tried to convince him to take the subway, but he insisted on paying for a taxi where he spent the entire ride trying to figure out a way to organically place his hand on her knee. Fortunately for Vivian, he couldn’t and didn’t.</p><p>“What made you pick this place?” Ken asked.</p><p>Vivian shrugged. “It’s my favorite. They have the best cheeseburgers in Manhattan…and they give you lots of fries.”</p><p>Ken’s brow furrowed. “What? You’re not one of those girls watching their figures?” he asked before realizing he was putting his big foot in his big mouth.</p><p>Vivian scoffed, astounded. “Should I be?” she asked, as if daring him to answer. Instead of making a fool of himself further, Ken went with it, pretending that he’d meant to say that all along.</p><p>“No,” he answered. “Not yet, anyway.”</p><p>Vivian set her menu down and laced her fingers together on top of it. “You know,” she said, “My verdict is still out on whether this was a good idea or not. Right now, you’re here.” She held up her hand, indicating a level. “When you say things like that, you go down to here.” She lowered her hand.</p><p>Ken smirked. “How bad do I have to be to go down there?” He nodded his head down towards the table, indicating that he was talking about what was below it.</p><p>Vivian shook her head. “No, you see, once you hit here,” she moved her hand a little lower, almost touching the table. “You starting heading that way.” She pointed at the door and Ken grinned.</p><p>“I will be a perfect gentleman,” he assured her just as the waitress came up to their table.</p><p>“What can I get you two?” she asked, sounding worn-out and overworked.</p><p>Ken smiled up at her. “Can we get two cheeseburgers both with fries and lots of them?” The waitress nodded, scribbling it down in her pad. “Anything else?” he asked, looking towards Vivian.</p><p>Vivian turned to the waitress. “Can I get a vanilla milkshake, please? With whipped cream and a cherry?”</p><p>“Make that two,” Ken added. The waitress nodded and moved on to another table, leaving Ken and Vivian alone at their booth in the back corner.</p><p>“Alright,” he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, shaking one out and putting it between his lips. He held the pack out to Vivian in offering and she took one gratefully. “We’re out of the office, away from coworkers, we’re not interviewing anymore. So, I finally get to ask you some questions. Where are you from?” He pulled his lighter from his jacket pocket and Vivian bent forward so he could light hers. She took a drag as he lit his own. She blew out a stream of smoke, contemplating the question.</p><p>“Tell me about growing up in Vermont. What was that like?” she asked, changing the subject.</p><p>Ken chuckled, taking a drag of his cigarette as well. “It was cold. And cloudy. And so dry in the winters, it’d make your knuckles crack and bleed.” He paused before continuing. “You know, your accent comes out after a few drinks whether you like it or not. Soon enough, I’ll probably be able to tell on my own.” Vivian knew this and she hated it. Her slight Southern drawl was an embarrassing memento from her youth – a consequence, really, one that she consciously wanted to rid herself of.</p><p>Vivian sighed, narrowing her eyes at him. “Louisiana. Slidell,” she finally conceded. “Though I desperately try to hide it.”</p><p>“And how’d a young girl from Slidell, Louisiana make it to the big city?”</p><p>Vivian shrugged. “I walked.”</p><p>Ken eyed her. “You know, you interviewed me. And I was an open book. I think it’s only fair that I get to do the same.”</p><p>Vivian shook her head, letting a sense of calm from her cigarette fill her lungs. “It doesn’t work like that,” she informed him.</p><p>“And why not?”</p><p>“Because the moment you really know me, Mr. Cosgrove, the mystery is over. And all my allure goes with it.” </p><p>Ken shook his head. “Never,” he insisted. Vivian rolled her eyes and took another drag. Ken shrugged, giving up for the time being. “Fine, if you wanna talk about me, we’ll talk about me. So – be honest. What’d the others say about me?”</p><p>Vivian laughed, opening back up. “Was this your plan all along? Get me drunk and vulnerable so I’ll spill everyone’s secrets?”</p><p>“Believe me, I wouldn’t get a woman drunk and vulnerable just for that.”</p><p>Vivian shook her head. “You’re vile.”</p><p>“Perhaps. So, people do tell you their secrets, then?” he asked, referring back to what she was saying before her insult.</p><p>“Often,” she assured him.</p><p>“You’re killing me, sweetheart.” Vivian shrugged, lips sealed and Ken took a drag of his cigarette, deep in thought. “Well, if you can’t tell me what they said…how about you tell me your impressions of them. Or does that break your writer’s code?”</p><p>Vivian paused for a moment, tapping her cigarette on the edge of the ashtray and thinking it over. “No…no, I suppose that’s a sanctioned loophole. I’ll allow it.”</p><p>“So….” Ken gestured towards her, prompting her to continue.</p><p>She sighed. “Harry Crane’s nice enough. Adores his wife, maybe even a little scared of her.”</p><p>Ken chuckled. “That’s the truth.”</p><p>“But, he craves others’ approval like a drug. The success doesn’t matter to him, it’s the validation that does. Pete Campbell is the opposite. Success is everything, but nothing will ever be good enough for him. He’ll sink his claws into every last one of you, tearing you to shreds if it means he gets one rung up on the corporate ladder.”</p><p>“Your candor is astounding, Miss Boudreaux. And Paul?”</p><p>“Your colleague, Paul Kinsey, is the new record holder of the highest number of times a man has put his hand on my knee in an hour.” Ken laughed. “I could barely get my questions out. He just kept going on and on about marching in Birmingham and his thoughts on German expressionism and, and beat poets. He talks and talks but doesn’t amount to a hill of beans. He wouldn’t take a breath, I thought he was going to pass out. Is he always like that?”</p><p>“Only around beautiful women. Half the time, in meetings, I can’t get him to say anything let alone pitch an idea actually worth considering.”</p><p>Vivian narrowed her eyes at him. “I knew accounts hated creative. They all said so.”</p><p>“They, who? Creative? You’re gonna take their word for it?”</p><p>“I’d take Peggy Olson’s word over anyone else’s any day,” Vivian said confidently, stamping out her cigarette on the ashtray just as their waitress returned with a large tray of food. She placed their plates and milkshakes down in front of each of them without saying a word. Vivian almost drooled eyeing the food before her. She was utterly famished and desperately needed something to start soaking up the alcohol in her system, as she was starting to feel a little more lightheaded than usual. She lifted up the burger with both hands, taking a huge bite, almost moaning at the taste.</p><p>“You’ve got quite the appetite,” Ken commented, breaking her from her trance.</p><p>She swallowed. “And you’ve got quite the opinions on it,” she shot back, causing him to smile as he rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down to his elbows. It was then Vivian noticed his arms – the pushed-up sleeves accentuating them. Vivian was a sucker for that move, the rolled-up look. She didn’t know why; it was nothing special, men did it all the time. And worse, none of them really knew the effect it had on women. Or, perhaps, that was for the best.</p><p>Ken dug into his burger as well. “So – Peggy.”</p><p>“Peggy’s the best, really. And I’m not just saying that because she’s a woman. Some of your secretaries are not the brightest bulbs, let me tell you that. But Peggy, she showed me some of her work.” Vivian shook her head, taking a bite of a french-fry. “I’d be careful how you treat her. Because if you lose her, your creative department is cut in half.” Mathematically, this wasn’t correct as Peggy Olson was just one person in the department, but Ken gathered what she was saying – that Peggy was worth more than all of them. “Does Don like her?” she asked curiously.</p><p>“Draper?” Ken clarified, as if she’d be talking about another Don. “I’m not sure who he likes, to be honest. Or if he likes anyone.”</p><p>“Yeah, I got that sense. That’s why everyone wants his approval so badly. And I mean everyone. You should hear the way they talk about him – like he hung the moon. He keeps everyone at arm’s length and they want to be resentful but they admire him too much. Even you, I bet.”</p><p>“Me?” Ken asked between bites of his cheeseburger.</p><p>Vivian nodded. “Everyone.”</p><p>“I don’t think Don hung the moon,” he said, before taking a sip of his milkshake. “I think he’s selling it. And, by god, does it look appealing.”</p><p>Vivian laughed. “Exactly my point. Don Draper is the powerhouse behind Sterling Cooper.”</p><p>“Please,” Ken scoffed. “Don Draper is Sterling Cooper. I’m not embarrassed to admit it.”</p><p>Vivian grinned, wishing she could write this down but not wanting to give up her food for a pen. “So, when he goes….”</p><p>Ken shrugged. “Who knows. But I’ll tell you, there will be a lot of claws trying to sink into his chair, even if no one can truly fill his seat.”</p><p>“Like who?”</p><p>“Well, Peggy Olson, probably, for one. Kinsey, just to get under Peggy’s skin. Hell, Pete might even jump over to creative if it means a promotion of that standard.”</p><p>“Vultures,” Vivian joked, making Ken laugh.</p><p>“No. No, they’re just…they’re a bit ambitious.”</p><p>The way he said it perplexed Vivian and prompted her next question. “And you’re not? Focused on moving up, I mean.”</p><p>Ken shrugged. “I am. Of course, I am. But I’m not going to slit my wrists for it, or anyone else’s for that matter.”</p><p>Vivian smiled. A real, genuine smile. “How refreshing. I don’t think I’ve heard that response before.”</p><p>“Yes, well, others don’t seem to find it that way.”</p><p>Vivian cocked her head to the side. “Why do you say that?”</p><p>“It’s just like we’ve been saying. Companies like people that are willing to do whatever it takes. Someone whose job is his life. I have interests outside of it.”</p><p>“Like writing.”</p><p>Ken nodded. “Just don’t remind my superiors. They don’t exactly appreciate that my attention lies elsewhere. A year ago, it showed initiative. Now it’s a problem. If I ever get published again, I’m doing it under a pseudonym.”</p><p>Vivian pantomimed locking her lips. “Lock and key…so, you’re not like them, then? You don’t fall victim to hubris or vice? You’re simply floating along in their sea. And they let you.”</p><p>“For now,” Ken nodded.</p><p>“Maybe you’re not Othello then. Maybe you’re Lieutenant Cassio.”</p><p>“Wasn’t Cassio particularly young and good-looking?” he asked, tilting his head knowingly.</p><p>“‘Reputation, reputation! O’ I have lost my reputation!’” Vivian quoted Shakespeare, mocking him. She finished the last of her burger and wiped her greasy hands on a paper napkin, not dignifying his question with an answer. “Alright, so I know what accounts does. But I wanna see it in action. I can see creative, it’s all over their desks and their walls. But I wanna see this supposed ‘accounts man charm’ I’ve heard so much about.” She dipped a french-fry in ketchup and ate it.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Ken asked, intrigued.</p><p>Vivian slid her milkshake glass towards her, taking a sip out of her straw. “Pretend I’m your client. What would you do?”</p><p>“What would I do?”</p><p>“Yes, what would you do? If I were your client, how would you treat me? Woo me.”</p><p>Ken ate a fry. “Well, for starters, we wouldn’t be sitting in this dump, that’s for sure.”</p><p>“Hey,” Vivian replied, offended. “Tell me that wasn’t the best cheeseburger you’ve ever had.”</p><p>“It was good.”</p><p>“You’re not wooing me,” Vivian informed him, picking up the cherry that matched her lip color and sucking the whipped cream off. Ken watched with baited breath as she plucked it off its stem with her teeth. Somehow, Vivian Boudreaux was both incredibly cute and irresistibly sexy at the same time and he had no idea how she did it. She was the cat, and he was the mouse. There was no denying it in that moment.</p><p>Ken coughed, trying to recover. “Well, I’d, um, I’d take them somewhere nice. A steakhouse if it’s just them, something fancier if they bring their wives. Before and during the meal is all pleasantries, no business. Talk about kids if they have them, their wives if they’re not there. Hobbies, golfing or hunting or something of that nature.”</p><p>Vivian rolled her eyes. “Men.”</p><p>“Then after the bears are well fed, you get down to brass tacks.”</p><p>“Which is?” Vivian prompted him to continue before taking a sip of her milkshake.</p><p>“Simple. Their needs aren’t being met. Whether they’re an old company who’s unsatisfied with their current agency or a new company looking to start advertising, we are the agency to best fill those needs. And here’s why.” He held up one finger with each point he made. “One: we’re smaller than the other agencies. That means more time devoted to you. Two: we keep at it until you’re one hundred percent satisfied. Other companies will simply convince you you’re satisfied.”</p><p>“Didn’t you say your job was convincing the client that your ideas were their ideas all along?” Vivian interrupted in questioning.</p><p>“Yes, but I’m not going to tell them that.”</p><p>“Fair enough. Proceed.”</p><p>“Three: we have the best creative team in the business. Then, I pepper in the name Don Draper, which they’ve no doubt heard otherwise they wouldn’t be meeting with me to begin with. And I assure them that if they just give creative a little time, let them whip up something special, they’ll see. They don’t even have to sign onto Sterling Cooper. Unless they like it.”</p><p>“And do they? Usually?” Vivian swiped her finger through the melted whipped cream on the top of her milkshake and put it in her mouth, just for a quick second. And it drove Ken crazy.</p><p>“It’s rare that they don’t,” he answered, trying to remain composed.</p><p>“But it does happen.”</p><p>Ken shook his head, pretending to be disappointed. “The melancholic satirist, indeed,” he said, referring back to their earlier conversation about authors.</p><p>“I’m just trying to get all my facts straight,” Vivian defended.</p><p>“I knew it. You’re still treating this like an interview,” he accused, pointing a finger at her.</p><p>“Of course. I’m charging it to my work account, after all,” she joked.</p><p>Ken thought this over for a quick second. “So, you’re saying that if I pay, this isn’t an interview. Then, this is a date.”</p><p>“I said absolutely no such thing…but if you pay, I’ll let you call it a date.”</p><p>Ken grinned. “I’ll take it.” He lifted his hand up, grabbing the attention of the waitress. “We’ll take the check please.” She nodded and ripped it off her pad, handing it to him. He looked at it before pulling a clip of bills out from his pocket. He unfurled a few, slapping them down on the table with the receipt just as Vivian gulped down the last of her milkshake.</p><p>Ken looked back up at her. “Where to now?” he asked.</p><p>“Now?” Vivian asked incredulously. She took hold of his arm that was on the table, glancing at the time on his watch before setting it back down. “Now, I’m going home.”</p><p>Ken smiled, playfully. “Alright, your place it is then. If you insist.”</p><p>“I didn’t,” Vivian assured him, running her hands through her loose strands of hair.</p><p>Ken leaned back in his seat. “Could’ve fooled me.”</p><p>“It wouldn’t be hard,” Vivian shot back with a knowing smile.</p><p>“You know, I don’t think I like your tone, Miss Boudreaux,” he said, his face anything but serious.</p><p>She leant over the table towards him. “You don’t have to…Mr. Cosgrove.” He stared into her eyes, almost daring her into something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But, like she did before, she broke eye contact, instead, grabbing her purse and sliding out of the booth.</p><p>“Come on,” she said. “If you’re nice, I’ll let you walk me home.”</p><p>Ken furrowed his brow. “And what happens if I’m not?”</p><p>“I put you in a taxi outside that door,” she replied, pointing to it.</p><p>Ken laughed and stood up, throwing on his suit jacket. “God, and you say ad men are quick. Where’d you get so keen? Inheritance?”</p><p>Vivian smiled. “Instructional pamphlet. Found it on the floor of a men’s restroom.”</p><p>“And what were you doing in the men’s restroom?” Ken asked, taking a daring step towards her.</p><p>Vivian looked up at him, brushing a stray thread off of his lapel. “Come on.” She nodded her head towards the door and headed that way. Ken followed after her, like the lovesick puppy he was. Or, perhaps not lovesick, but a milder version of the sort. Lustsick.</p><p>Ken stepped just off the curbside, holding his hand out for a taxi.</p><p>“Oh – no, I don’t need a taxi,” Vivian told him.</p><p>He put his arm down, furrowing his brow. “You don’t?”</p><p>“I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m walking home. I don’t live far, just a few blocks.”</p><p>Outside, the air had turned from a briskness to a deep chill. The wind had picked up and everyone was donning jackets and shawls to cover their exposed shoulders. A particularly strong gust of wind pushed a loose piece of newspaper flying past Ken and Vivian and sent a shiver down Vivian’s spine. She quickly clasped her hands to her arms to keep herself from shaking. Noticing this, Ken began to remove his jacket.</p><p>“Oh, no,” Vivian tried to insist. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”</p><p>Ken shook his head. “Please. It’s the least I can I do. Especially since you’re going to let me walk you home. That’s an honor of insurmountable proportions.”</p><p>Vivian didn’t know what to say. “I…I was just joking earlier. You don’t have to.”</p><p>Ken let out a disbelieving chuckle. “You really think that I’m going to let you walk home alone at this time of night? You’re delusional. There’re reprobates out there.” He took his jacket off fully and draped it over her shoulders.</p><p>“Something tells me they’re not the ones I have to worry about.” She tightened the jacket around her feeling the warmth encase her. “Fine. But don’t even think about trying something funny.”</p><p>“I told you I’d be a perfect gentleman, Miss Boudreaux. And I’m a man of my word.”</p><p>“How honorable,” she replied, amused.</p><p>He held his arm out for her, and this time, unlike the last, she took it, looping her arm through his and placing her other hand on his bicep. As she did, he felt a sudden sense of glee spring up in his chest and he thought maybe this was what his coworkers felt at work every day. They all seemed so pleased and accomplished, but, all too often, Ken felt as though he was just floating along beside it all. A clownfish in a sea of piranhas. Maybe this is the feeling that they’ve always had that he’s been missing out on.</p><p>“I can’t believe you live in the Village,” he said with a shake of his head.</p><p>Vivian side-eyed him. “If you start bad-mouthing my piece of Manhattan, I’ll hail you a taxi right here, right now. The Village is the heart of culture.”</p><p>Ken scoffed. “You can’t really believe that.”</p><p>Vivian let his arm drop to his side and stepped off the curb, holding her hand out delicately. “Taxi!” she called and Ken laughed, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back onto the sidewalk. Vivian couldn’t help but laugh as well, leaning into the embrace as he spun her around once playfully. She tried to reach out again to call a taxi but he pulled her arm down, keeping it at her side as he pushed her forward on the sidewalk.</p><p>“Let me go,” she laughed and he took his hands off of her, holding them up in surrender.</p><p>“Perfect gentleman. See?”</p><p>Vivian smiled up at him. “Indeed. Well, come on, then.” She intertwined their arms again with a skip in her step, leaning into him. “Maybe I can convince you in three blocks that Greenwich is the best part of Manhattan.”</p><p>Ken scoffed. “Not likely.”</p><p>“Twain, Whitman, Faulkner,” Vivian listed, enthusiastically. “All residents of the Village.”</p><p>“And now, Boudreaux,” he added.</p><p>Vivian nodded and continued. “Your Ginsberg, my Kerouac, Dylan Thomas, Bob Dylan!”</p><p>Ken laughed. “I get it, you’re part of the revolution.”</p><p>“La vie boheme, baby.” Vivian smiled, looking up at him, pressing her head against his shoulder just briefly before pulling it back up. “You know I saw Dylan once. Bob, not Thomas. He played this café just a little down that street.” She pointed down a street on their left. “It was…extraordinary. People say he can’t sing…but it’s not how he sings, it’s what he sings, why he sings. The way he connects with his audience and really says something. It’s any writer’s dream to connect with people the way he has.”</p><p>“Did you ask him to the diner too?” Ken asked, jokingly.</p><p>Vivian blushed, looking away so he wouldn’t see. “Don’t think I didn’t consider it.”</p><p>He looked over at her. “So, I take it I’m not exactly your type, then.”</p><p>She let out a short laugh. “Believe it or not, you’re the first man from Madison Avenue I’ve let walk me home…and tomorrow, you’re gonna blow it, aren’t you? Tell the entire office.” Ken looked at her, confused. “I know about the office bet. A race between you and Paul to mark your territory or something equally insulting.”</p><p>Ken didn’t know what to say. “Vivian, I –” Vivian stared up at him, searching for the truth in his eyes. “I swear, I didn’t even hear about that.”</p><p>“So, you’re not gonna tell them all about this, then? Parade all the details in the locker room?” Ken thought about this for a second. Sure, he’d love to brag to the office – especially Paul Kinsey – about his night with the great Vivian Boudreaux. But he desperately didn’t want to blow it.</p><p>He shook his head. “Lock and key,” he assured her. “Speaking of my coworkers, there’s a question that the boys have been wondering since you stepped foot into Pete Campbell’s office.”</p><p>“And what’s that?”</p><p>“How the hell do you know Roger Sterling?”</p><p>Vivian let out a laugh. “What are the polls? I’m sure y’all have put money on this as well.”</p><p>“Most people are either voting you’re his secret niece or some other type of relative or that you’re sleeping with him.” Vivian let out an incredulous laugh. “And Paul…well….”</p><p>Vivian rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, do tell,” she said, sarcastically.</p><p>“Paul’s saying you met him as a hooker and blackmailed him into publishing your first book. And now you’re back for round two.”</p><p>Vivian’s mouth dropped. “Hey!” She shoved Ken.</p><p>“Hey, I didn’t say it!” he defended. “I’m just relaying the information.”</p><p>“Yeah well they’re not here.” She shoved him again, but this time laughing.</p><p>Ken joined in on her laughter. “Shoot the messenger, much?”</p><p>“‘Gracious madam, I that do bring the news made not the match,’” Vivian teased him with a mocking half-bow, quoting Shakespeare again – this time Antony and Cleopatra. “Why don’t you ask Roger yourself?”</p><p>“Believe it or not, I think you’re easier to talk to.” Vivian chuckled but still didn’t answer his previous question. With another gust of wind, she wrapped Ken’s jacket tighter around her shoulders and kicked a discarded beer can in the street, sending it skittering into a brick building. “Down here,” she said, making a turn off the busier avenue to a quiet street filled with brownstone apartment complexes and federal-style houses. “Only a short walk to both Washington and Union Square Park and a bit further west to the Hudson. How can you possibly look down on the Village?” she asked him.</p><p>“Yes, I can practically see the shining isles of New Jersey from here,” Ken countered mockingly. “What about Central Park? The Met?”</p><p>“The Upper East Side is a museum,” Vivian insisted. “I don’t want to live life in a museum. I want to live it among the people!” she declared, holding her arms out. Ken shook his head, chuckling. “Do you like live music? Rock ‘n’ roll? Folk?” she asked.</p><p>“I do,” he replied.</p><p>Vivian shook her head. “I don’t believe you. You can’t like that music and not like the Village.”</p><p>Ken laughed out of sheer disbelief that she was still arguing about this. “I don’t dislike the Village, I just don’t want to live here. Can’t we just agree to disagree?”</p><p>She shook her head again, adamantly. “You’ll see. I’ll take you to see some live music some time – good live music – and then you’ll see.”</p><p>“Oh, you will, will you?” he asked, suggestively.</p><p>Vivian shrugged. “If for nothing but just to prove a point.” They reached the steps of Vivian’s apartment and she stopped, nodding her head towards it. “This is me.” They ascended the small walkup and stood at the door. They faced each other, each unsure what the other wanted to do at that moment. “And this is where the night ends.”</p><p>“What, no night cap?” Ken asked, only half-joking.</p><p>“Now, why would I ruin a perfectly good night like that?” she quipped back with a sly smile.</p><p>Ken put his hand to his heart. “God, you’re killing me, Slick.” Vivian tried to hide her genuine smile as she took Ken’s coat off her shoulders and handed it back to him.</p><p>“Thank you,” she told him. “For the jacket and for tonight. I…actually had a good time.”</p><p>“Actually? Oh, well thank you.” She rolled her eyes and smiled, despite herself. “I’m glad. Me too,” he continued, earnestly. She looked up at him through her lashes with large, brown doe eyes and he stared down at her, their bodies far closer than either of them had even realized.</p><p>She watched as he slowly leant in closer to her. And she wanted to kiss him, she did. But for some inexplicable reason, she just couldn’t bring herself to go through with it. She turned her head to the side slightly and he took the obvious hint, kissing her lightly on the cheek instead. He pulled back, marginally confused, wondering what he did wrong. Vivian reached into her purse, pulling out her keys, before looking back to him. She put her free hand on his lapel and he thought perhaps she’d changed her mind. But she didn’t. She slid her hand up to his shirt collar that poked upwards out of his suit jacket ever-so-slightly and tucked it back in. She smoothed it out and smiled at him.</p><p>“Goodnight, Mr. Cosgrove.”</p><p>He nodded, a bit disappointed but refusing to show it. “Goodnight, Miss Boudreaux.” He smiled and nodded at her as she unlocked the building door and went inside. As he watched her go, he couldn’t help but feel strangely lucky. Even though she turned away, she spent the entire night with him. There was a spark there, he was sure of it. And he was nothing if not persistent.</p>
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